


Kindred

by hasbean



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Durin Family, Durincest, Incest, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hasbean/pseuds/hasbean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A self-indulgent piece on the Durin family, focusing on if Kili were considerably younger than Fili and, as a result, Thorin and Fili raised him as their own;</p>
<p>At the time of the Quest for Erebor, Kili is still a babe - far too young to help his brother and uncle reclaim their homeland. The passing of Dís during their travels sees Fili and Thorin presented with a young child, beloved by both of them, in need of a home and security. </p>
<p>It is not a matter of choice, simply a realisation of what must happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a simple piece, spanning a couple of "chapters", without much really occurring other than a lot of fluff, hopefully some good 'ol Thorin/Fili sexiness, and a wee bit of family drama (because, let us be honest, I don't think you could deal with Kili through adolescence without some teenage angst). 
> 
> It was born of my love for Thorin/Fili but hesitancy and dislike for excluding Kili from that close family unit. So I compromised.

Fili knew little of a life before Ered Luin, never having walked the halls of his forefathers or even laid eyes upon the great monuments of kings and warriors long dead that stood as sentinels by the massive gates and tall battlements of Erebor. When discussions of reclaiming the Lonely Mountain began to stir, it had meant little to him – if anything, it appeared as folly, because what did those empty halls mean to their people but death and dark times? What would that quest yield that could outweigh the lives that would be endangered by waking the sleeping dragon?

He said as much the night Thorin declared his plans; hoped reason, logic and a not insignificant amount of weakness borne of a lover’s affection would render the exiled king’s plans moot.      

‘This is madness, Thorin,’ the distance between them was not unsubstantial, at opposite ends of their family’s humble kitchen, and though Fili was aware of his mother and babe brother sleeping in nearby rooms his voice would not soften, ‘and the dwarves you would call upon, whose lives you would risk, are worth more than baubles and ruins.’   

‘Baubles and ruins?’ Thorin’s tone became as ice and stone. ‘You would relegate our home to such trivialities? You would deny me your aid in its reclamation and choose instead to remain in squalor?’

‘Aye, readily.’ Fili’s voice was as fire, hot and uncontrollable, and the darning that had occupied his fingers moments before was set aside.

Mittens, they were; threadbare and tiny, to keep Kili’s chubby fingers safe from the biting cold of winter. It was the work of women, he knew, but long had it been since Dís’ hands were steady enough to hold needle and yarn, and Fili would not see his brother go without if he could prevent it.

‘You are foolish, then, and do not possess mettle enough to deserve such a home,’ Thorin’s brows drew together, his stance widening in a way that Fili often thought of as grounding himself against any sort of attack – physical of verbal, ‘if you will not fight for it.’

‘You would insinuate my cowardice? You are the one who would leave all those who depend on you here and risk your life for something only you desire.’ 

Thorin crossed the small room within a handful of steps and stood before his nephew, pulling him up and close until they were within a hairsbreadth of each other. The younger lacked the height to meet his lover eye to eye, making up for it in the steel of his gaze as he refused to withdraw. Thin lips pulled back over white teeth and Fili ached in his heart to see such aggression on the face of the one he loved – for having caused it, for having hurt and for the harsh words that yet lingered between them – but refused to allow such an emotion to show through.

‘I do it for them. I do it for _you_.’

Labor-roughened fingers raised and moved from bearded jaw to a thick braid knotted by the exiled king’s ear. Fili pulled sudden and insistent, forward and downward until their foreheads pressed together and Thorin exhaled sharply at the touch of flesh to flesh. Tension bled rapidly and the younger dwarf raised both hands to his beloved’s face as strong fingers found his hips. Thorin shook his head – though not in negation – as an indescribable emotion contorted handsome features. Fili knew not what it was, though he was well acquainted with it; it had always weighed upon the shoulders and mind of his king, depriving him of peace, waking him late in the night and carving pieces of _Thorin_ out to leave behind nothing but grit and sharp edges. It was born, he supposed, of losing near everything one holds dear and living daily with the realisation that things could yet worsen.

‘I should not have-’

A press of lips silenced Thorin’s apology and Fili wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if one day the tension would not be so simply soothed by loving words and tender touches.

‘Losing you would end me,’ the younger dwarf stepped closer, closing any space left between them, ‘Know that I do not argue with you for any other reason than loving you severely.’

Thorin exhaled harshly, turning from the second kiss Fili tried to bestow upon wind-chapped lips but the younger was not disheartened, instead nuzzling against the softness of his lover’s bearded cheek.

Eyes, transient in their ability to change from the darkest to the brightest of blues without provocation, closed against the meager lighting of the kitchen and Fili was pulled more firmly against his uncle’s strong chest.

‘I have no choice, dear one. My life was forfeit for the sake of this quest long ago.’

 

* * *

 

By spring, he had pledged his aid to his uncle’s cause and found himself packing his effects to depart for unfamiliar lands. The notion of such a quest – dangerous, seeming nearly impossible and with a pay-off of questionable import – saw Fili agreeing not for their people’s future, or their long dead ancestors, but for his One and King. It certainly seemed, after all, as Fili lay awake in bed at night, listening to his lover’s breathing and turning all future choices over and about in his mind, that this quest was Thorin’s destiny.

And without it, he would fade.   

Thorin had left weeks prior, when snow was still fresh on the ground and Fili had fixed the clasp on his king’s cloak beneath his chin and been kissed, brief but tender, as dawn crept over the mountains behind them. 

Kili, not old enough to understand what was going on, smiled and kicked his feet merrily, chubby fists grabbing for golden braids when he was lifted high by his brother on the eve of his leaving. Dís watched them from the doorway, as if she could not bring herself to be in the room for what could be the last moments her sons spent together.  Her expression was drawn, skin pallid and shoulders hunched in a way that belied her youth and the time of their father – when royal lessons still held her chin high and pressed her shoulders back, even as she scrubbed floors and the dirty linen of men. It had been so long since the steel of the Durin line, and the strength every dwarf woman possessed, had been enough to hide her grief behind – long enough that Fili could not recall it clearly anymore.

Vaguely, Fili worried – worried that his mother’s failing health, borne from eternal grief, little food and postnatal malady, would not be enough to keep the smiling babe in his arms so cheerful. He worried about something he could not place, a dark possibility that never fully formed in his mind but twisted his stomach and pinched at the back of his thoughts.

He tried not to let it show, did his best to retain as much mettle as he could while kissing Kili’s soft, full face, needing that strength and resolve to hand him to their mother. Dís too received a hug – gentle, but not unfeeling – and Fili picked up his things. He did not attempt words; ignored the soft noises of displeasure his actions pulled from his little brother. They pulled at his heart – his very core – and, it seemed, all surrounding pieces in him of any import.

He did not know when he would return, and could not entertain the thought of it being a matter of _if_ and not _when_ , lest he turn back around and find himself unable to leave them. Fili hefted his pack high on his shoulders and saw the door locked tight before setting off on the path from Ered Luin and to his uncle, kin and whatever fate lay ahead of their cursed line.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ("chapter" - can they really be called that when they're so biddy?) will deal with minor character death, though certainly not in any explicit way... just setting up the unfortunate circumstances necessary for progression.

It was years following the reclamation of the mountain before dwarves began to trickle back into the empty halls of Erebor, and even with growing numbers any progress was slow progress. The great forges had been cold for centuries and the vast mines were near impassable, most caved in or weakened by the tempestuous movements of an enormous creature in a comparatively limited space. Trade agreements had been mapped and signed, but food was scarce in lands scorched by dragon fire and dwarf, elf and man alike could not be fed on gold, silver and gems.

Erebor was reclaimed, but it would take time, Thorin conceded, for it to regain its true grandeur.

He came to Fili early one morning, finding him readying for a long day of discussions and manual labour in equal turns. The older dwarf crossed the room of the chambers they shared – not the king’s chambers, not yet, as they were still in too much disarray – and Fili sat the comb he had been running through his hair aside to give his full attention. Thorin picked the comb up with as much thought as the prince had exhausted in putting it aside, gathering up golden tresses and working a night’s worth of knots from them. The King Under the Mountain had been up for hours – Fili had woken with him in the quiet time before dawn, had protested that the duties of Erebor could surely spare him an extra hour, that he could surely just _come back to bed_ for a while longer – and obviously had news for his efforts.

‘There have been sightings of a caravan drawing near.’

Fili turned sharply, enough to cause his uncle to lose grip of a loosening braid and he earned an irritated rumble and a gentle tug for his carelessness.

‘A caravan? From the Blue Mountains?’ Heedless of the rebuke, the younger dwarf searched his lover’s face for any early tells, any signs or hints of the news he desired so greatly.  

It had been three years since he had set out from Ered Luin, but duty and responsibility had kept Fili from returning for his brother and mother. What had been for his uncle had changed when he set eyes upon their ancient halls and, though the thick stone and darkness unsettled him at times, the dwarf prince had come to understand. He knew, in this first days after the great battle, that it was their home, and where they belonged, and he would work till his body broke to see it once again returned to the splendour of the stories his uncle, Balin and his mother had told.

‘Aye, we believe as much,’ Thorin, at length happy with the neatness of his young lover’s hair, began a set of twin braids similar to his own – neat despite the awkward angle of Fili’s head, ‘They should arrive by midday meal.’

‘Kili? Does he travel with them? And Mother, did she come?’

A firm hand turned Fili’s head back around so that he faced the clouded surface of what was once, most likely, a beautiful mirror atop a grand dresser. Nothing more than shapes and the shadow of colours were visible through it anymore and it was mere habit that saw Fili sitting at it of a morning to fix his hair. As a result, he could not see his uncle’s face when he was guided into an easier position for the older dwarf to finish his work.

Thorin’s fingers swept the hair from Fili’s neck after fastening the final clasp, pressing three tender kisses to the skin that was laid bare to his eyes. He did not speak.

‘Thorin?’ Fili tried when he could wait no longer, turning on his chair once more to face the older dwarf directly.

The expression he was met with had his throat feeling dry.

‘Kili travels with them – I asked that Dwalin accompany him, as you know, to ensure his safety. The child is well.’

Fili’s voice sounded a note off hysteria to his own ears.

‘Then why do you look at me like that…?’

‘A scout arrived this morn, informing us of who comes. Your mother is not one of them… I have been informed that she passed nearly a year ago.’

He could not move. Could not speak, though his jaw and lips moved in numerous aborted attempts.

Fili was pulled gently from his chair and into strong arms. Shock and grief saw him unable to outwardly react for a moment, his eyes wide but unseeing. 

‘I am sorry, dear one...’

Fili gripped the rich material of Thorin’s robes, felt dry but soft lips press against his forehead and hair. Tears prickled at the backs of eyes but he willed them back – bit the inside of his cheek against them and took a shuddering breath instead.

‘I should have been there. I should not have left, and I should have stayed with her...!’

The words left him in a flood, emotion welling – something that taking a pound of flesh could not keep at bay. Tears were inescapable.

They, as a small mercy, only lasted long enough to moisten his eyes and wet his cheeks before Fili was able to get ahold of himself. Thorin was silent as he waited, brushing each tear from his nephew’s skin before simply cupping his cheek and pressing their foreheads together.

Fili tried again, hoping words would come stronger this time.

‘And Kili-’

‘Kili will stay with us.’ The King Under the Mountain’s tone left no room for argument, or discussion and, for reasons unknown, they saw an onslaught of tears begin once more.

There was no discussion because there need be no discussion. Kili was family, and he would never pass another day alone as long as their shared blood thrummed through vein to heart.

 

* * *

 

Kili was still small, a dwarfling hardly old enough to wander from the watchful eyes of a keeper – hardly able to wander around at all – but so much bigger than Fili’s memories painted. He came with a caravan of the most eager of their non-labouring, non-fighting kin; the first to set out from the Blue Mountains after word that Erebor was habitable once more for those unwilling to leave what comforts they had obtained over the years to sleep on cold stone floors. Dwalin held a small hand in his own, tiny fingers wrapped around one of his far more substantial digits and little was visible of the dwarfling through thick, dark hair, wild and unbraided, and the furs and leathers he’d been wrapped in to ward against the elements.

But Fili knew without a second glance who he was.

Before status or self-consciousness could take hold, Fili’s feet propelled him forward, ducking and weaving through the throng of arrived dwarves, carts and animals as they passed through the gates. It had been so long, and Kili so young when they had last met that it was unlikely he would recall his brother’s face, or voice, but it fuelled the dwarf prince instead of cowing him.  Stopping in front of Kili had the effect of drawing his attention, Fili quick to drop to one knee so they could see one another properly.

‘Kili…’

The dwarfling blinked dark eyes, surveying the one in front of him with brazen curiosity, examining Fili from his braids to the leather of his boots. Inspection of his shoes did not last long, however, and Kili’s attention seemed drawn to the older dwarf’s hair, where it spilled over his shoulders and the high collar of his coat, as if it were familiar or known to him.

Fili took a breath, tried to swallow against the lump in his throat – failed, and his voice came out tremulous.

‘Kili, I’m your brother. I’m Fili… do you remember me?’

As he waited for a response – a smile, a nod, _anything_ – he wanted to grab the dwarfling; to grab him and hold him close, pepper his face with kisses and never allow such distance to exist between them again, as long as it was in his power. When Kili moved forward – forsaking the safety of Dwalin’s nearness – close enough to extend his hands and bury chubby fingers in his brother’s hair, taking ahold as if to confirm it was indeed real, Fili’s heart soared.    

And when his name was mumbled, soft and nearly inaudible against his chest as Kili pressed tight against him, Fili gave in, scooping the dwarfling from his feet and holding him for the first time in what felt like an age. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili finds a way to deal, and there is smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was a difficult one but I hope it goes over well. I agonised over what dwarflings would call their parents and had to vaguely allude to the possibility of dwarrows being able to be knocked up to make it all work... and then the second part was all because I could.

 

* * *

 

Any concerns about awkwardness borne of years apart proved unfounded and erroneous the moment Kili was reunited with his family, the dwarfling just as happy to be lifted from his feet by his uncle as he had been with his brother, pressing a bare cheek to Thorin’s rough scrub of a beard.

Fili watched them, not attempting to hide the smile that pinched the corners of his mouth and had him showing teeth and, he suspected, dimples alike. He knew that they were not out of the proverbial woods yet – almost scoffed at the thought, as what a compounded meaning that had after their trip through Mirkwood – but he allowed himself to enjoy the sight and what it could possibly mean for their future.

That Kili could be happy, with him and Thorin. That they could be some kind of functioning family unit again, despite everything that lay behind and, undoubtedly, ahead.

 

The dwarfling was moved into a room closest to that of the King and his future consort, though most nights found him scrambling between Thorin and Fili a few hours after being put down to sleep.  Those nights were precious – hours spent in darkness, few words shared or attempted – in their _closeness_. Fili found himself waking early, even before his beloved, which was no small feat, to simply watch a while in the light of the fireplace’s smouldering embers.

Thorin and Kili in the same bed ensured pillows were barely visible for all the long, dark hair that spilled over them. The dwarfling was tactile by nature, quick to establish his fingers in beards and around braids, so most mornings that didn’t find him pressed against his brother had Kili with his head tucked under his uncle’s chin, propped up on his chest or curled tight by his shoulder. When Thorin woke to find Fili watching, the youngest dwarf still fast asleep between, against or atop one of them, they would share a smile – a kiss, if it would not jostle – and could wordlessly agree that things were well.

As a result, the day that “brother” and “uncle” were replaced with “mother” and “father” at first provoked laughter. The morning meal had passed without incident despite the way Kili fidgeted in his seat with obvious interest in seeing the day started – unsurprising, really, as the day ahead promised an outing to the market instead of lessons cooped up in the library.

When the plates were cleared, Kili was standing on his chair out of eagerness, as if it would be quicker to launch himself towards the door to dress for the day if he was already on his feet.

Thorin gave him a disapproving look – usually enough to see bottom to chair without a word – but Kili barely seemed to notice it.

‘May I be excused, Da?’

Fili nearly choked on the final dregs of his morning draught, while Thorin’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, any signs of sternness lost in the face of his shock. The King Under the Mountain took but a moment to recover, though his eyes were then bright with amusement.

‘You may, though I expect that by midday meal you will have remembered where feet do and do not belong when at my table.’

Kili quickly shifted to sit in his seat before sliding from it and to the ground, utterly unaware of the incredulous looks the two older dwarves shared as he sprinted from the hall to change out of his sleeping clothes.

‘ _Da_.’ Fili repeated, bewildered.

Thorin rubbed at his jaw, shaking his head slowly but with a smile on his lips.

‘Aye, apparently.’

They laughed until Kili returned, dressed and practically vibrating with excitement, the straps of his boots flapping wildly and waiting for far steadier hands to tighten them around thin legs. Thorin stood, lifting the lad to sit beside his brother so his shoes could be fixed before ruffling Kili’s hair and giving Fili a brief but firm kiss.

‘A momentary slip, perhaps.’

Thorin’s “momentary slip” theory was disproved later that morning when Fili became “Mama”. “Uncle” and “brother” saw no signs of returning in the following days.

Balin assured them it was nothing concerning in such a young child – a coping mechanism, perhaps, to deal with the death of Dís and their father’s absence in his life by removing them completely from his memories or knowledge, psychologically and mentally adopting Fili and Thorin in their places. As he grew older he would become better equipped to deal with their family’s history – they could explain everything to someone able to fathom it all, tell him about the parents he had never really known – but until then they could possibly be granted a number of years with Kili devoid of the painful memories of loneliness, and abandonment.

It was not impossible – not even wholly difficult, really – to enable the fiction. Those that knew enough about the line of Durin to identify Kili as nephew to the king were informed of their intentions, and others seemed, due to familial resemblances, more than happy to infer the erroneous relationship without any help. Fili’s place as the king’s consort ensured that his role as Kili’s mother – something rare in their culture, but not impossible, especially in a royal line that remained mostly shrouded in mystery to those of the common folk – was as quickly accepted.

From the outset, they did not know when the day would come that they would tell Kili the truth, simply that it would be _later_. When he was older, stronger… and if that allowed them to put it off another year, another two years, well, it was all for Kili’s benefit.

 

* * *

 

Fili woke to soft lips against his throat and powerful hands tracing his thighs and stomach beneath the shirt he wore to bed – one of Thorin’s that was long passed respectable, a dark navy in colour and large enough to be comfortable but always slipping off a freckled shoulder. It was early, if the silence beyond the heavy doors to the King’s chambers was any indication, and Fili half laughed, half groaned at being woken for such obvious fare. He felt Thorin’s answering chuckle reverberate through the broad chest pressed to his back, heard it rumble by his ear before his lover’s mouth returned to its path over his shoulder, all the more available for his gaping shirt and a mussed bed braid. Fili reached back and landed a smack on a muscled thigh, any harshness absorbed by the thick linen that covered them.

‘You… are a menace…’

Thorin took the opportunity presented to him and grabbed his lover’s arm, easily rolling them so that he could settle between Fili’s thighs, a soft noise not unlike a yelp leaving the younger dwarf as he landed on his back. Leaning down, Thorin stole a kiss that morphed into two, three… numerous, and when they parted, neither were breathing evenly. 

‘Yet you never refuse me.’

Any desire to come up with a witty response was quickly quashed at the sight of Thorin half-naked and wanting, Fili instead amusing himself with the contours, dips and muscles of his lover’s torso and arms, skimming scars and following the sharp lines of the runic tattoos that marked the King Under the Mountain from shoulders to groin.  Callused fingertips traced the outside of pale thighs almost in imitation, but with purpose, catching on soft material and drawing it up and out of the way as hips pressed and moved together in slow counterpoint.

Fili fell back against the mattress, gripping the sheet above his head as his spine arched and feet seemed to edge further apart of their own accord. Thorin followed him down, elbow planted by a flushed ear as he pressed their mouths together for a messy kiss, spare hand reaching for the vial of scented oil they kept in a drawer by their bed for just such occasions.

The first finger was less a shock as a relief– Fili supposed the body got used to it, came to crave it when near a familiar giver of pleasure – and was followed promptly by a second and a third that had the younger dwarf clawing at the mattress above his head, attempting to stifle his moans and failing rather miserably. Thorin’s smile was one of smug satisfaction as he sat upright to survey his lover properly and Fili scrunched his eyes closed, feeling moist lips against the inside of his knee as he attempted to regain what control he could lest things be over too quickly. 

The King Under the Mountain wasted little time when he was confident that he would not cause unnecessary pain, slicking himself before shifting forward and bringing his hips tight against his lover’s rear.

Both dwarves inhaled sharply at the first push that brought them together, Fili’s hands grabbing for broad shoulders as he gasped for the air that felt sucked from his throat. Torn between pulling his lover closer and pushing him away, he ended up doing little more than writhe on the spot, helpless to the sensation. Thorin shuddered above him, still and shaking minutely with the effort of it.

‘Oh, _love_ …’ The words came out as a sharp exhalation – the breath they’d both gulped down at the initial push – and Fili opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed.

He tried to regain his breath, failed, and only managed a weak “ _Thorin_ ” that seemed to spur the other dwarf into action. The pace Thorin set was slow, lazy almost, but punctuated by deep thrusts expertly aimed to shoot electricity up Fili’s spine with every push and pull.

Fili turned his head, enjoying the coolness of the sheet beneath them against his flushed cheek, hands restless over the expanse of his lover’s back and chest. He could barely see straight for the pleasure coursing through him – didn’t much care about vision at that stage, far too caught up in his other senses – but when movement registered in his periphery, Fili did his best to focus.

By the door, slightly ajar now…

‘Thorin!’ Fili’s voice was weak, breathless.

Thorin barely seemed to register it – probably thought it a result of culminating pleasure, a mindless vocalisation – and did not slow.

The solid kick to his gut undoubtedly came as a surprise. 

The King Under the Mountain crumpled, gasping for breath due to something far removed from pleasure this time and it allowed Fili to scoot back against the tall headboard, fumbling to pull his tunic down and crumpled covers up.

Kili was half hidden behind their chamber’s door, peering around the heavy wood with wide, brown eyes. Upon realising he’d been noticed the dwarfling padded inside and clambered up onto the mattress beside the older dwarves, utterly unfazed by and completely oblivious to what he had wandered in on. Fili summoned a smile and offered a silent apology to his husband, who was still curled on his side, evidently winded.

‘Kili… little one, what is it…?’

‘I'm not tired anymore. Can I get up yet?’

The blond raised a hand, brushing sleep from the corner of the boy’s eye – _their_ boy. Kili allowed it, but pouted when he did not receive an immediate response. ‘Mama?’

‘Yes, yes…’ Fili combed his fingers through soft, brown locks, attempting to smooth them back to keep them out of the child’s face. He gave up within moments, deciding that it would need to be trimmed soon if Kili wouldn't sit still long enough to allow them to braid it. ‘You’re already up, after all. We can’t really send you back to bed.’

Kili whooped his approval, shimmying back on the covers to slowly lower himself to the ground, his mind likely already on breakfast and beyond. He was almost out the door before he paused, turning back around.

‘Mama?’

‘Yes, little one?’

‘Is Da okay?’

Thorin, still curled up on his side, wheezing quietly, offered a grunt that Fili hoped was affirmative. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments so far, and to everyone who left kudos - it really does motivate a lady :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili gives his parents palpitations, and Ori is brave for the sake of his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terminology. Terminology almost gave me a clot on this one. Like I umm'd and ahh'd over what dwarves would call their parents, I found myself struggling to establish Fili's title, really not wanting to over-feminise a guy who's dealing with being called a mother on top of it all. I didn't want to emasculate him, Khuzdul had no word for queen that I could find to blur the gender line, and so I was stuck. Then I realised queens are boss. Who wouldn't want to be a queen? I would be Thorin's queen. What's so wrong with using a title that seems to have the necessary gravity? 
> 
> So I went with it. Hope it doesn't irk anyone too badly. 
> 
> ... I think Queen Fili!mama is pretty rad.

 

* * *

 

Kili dodged dwarves, men and even the occasional elf alike as he tore through the marketplace, ducking under heavy crates brought in from Laketown by tall men and scooting over those that sat on the ground, in his way. A misstep had him stumbling into a broad dwarrowdam with a basket of apples hefted on her shoulder and he received a sharp rebuke as he regained his feet and continued his path through the heavy throng of bodies that filled Erebor’s market district.

The shop he was looking for – small, but decked out with fine scarves, knits and linens – was already bustling and to get inside required no small amount of weaving and sidestepping.

Upon reaching the counter Kili stood on a small lip in the stone so he could see over the freshly polished surface and found himself face to face with a stout dwarf with long, silver hair done up in elegant braids.

‘Good morning, Dori!’

Dori, hands busy with wrapping up an embellished shawl for a nearby customer, took in the sight of the dwarfling, already ratty in a way only children could accomplish despite the early hour of the day and sighed like Kili was more accustomed to hearing from his ma.

‘Good morning, your highness,’ the shawl was bundled in brown paper and tied off with twine to keep it all together, ‘what have you been into? You’re in a state…’

Kili simply grinned, allowing the older dwarf to lean forward and pull a swinging clasp from the end of a lock of hair and tuck it safe into the folds of his tunic. ‘I can only imagine what the King would say if he saw you running around as such… strong words, I have no doubt!’

‘Is Ori here?’

Dori huffed quietly as his words had no visible effect but recognised an unwinnable battle in Kili, crown prince of Erebor.

‘He is playing with Gimli in the backroom. Go on through, though I have half a mind to send you back to your mother so he can see what a mess you’ve made of your fine clothes and hair...’

The brunet dwarfling needed no more incentive to move, jumping from the counter and disappearing through the door that led to the shop’s storeroom and, when Ori accompanied his brother to work, playroom.

Kili found his friends seated in a far corner, Ori’s head in a book while Gimli sat nearby, moving a small wooden horse across the floor as he regaled the other dwarfling with a story his father had told him the night before about cave goblins.

‘Ori! Gimli!’

They both looked up at his entry, Ori’s eyes wide and Gimli’s words dying on his tongue.

‘Good morning, Kili…’ The book the smallest dwarf had been reading was already on the floor, discarded in temporary disinterest at the appearance of his friend.

‘I found it.’ Kili crossed the room and swept the toys between them to the side so he could sit close, his voice quiet but audibly excited. ‘If we can get onto the south-west battlements, there’s a door and it goes down some stairs and then there’s another door, but _it_ leads straight out the side of the mountain!’

Gimli’s eyes, which had gradually narrowed as the other dwarfling spoke, were nearly slits before he opened them wide, shook his head sharply and puffed out his cheeks.

‘No! You’ll get us… eaten by wargs, or captured by orcs… we’re not _allowed_ outside the mountain by ourselves for a _reason_ …!’

‘You’re just scared,’ the brunet challenged, his smile showing teeth as he leaned forward, ‘the whole outside of the mountain is patrolled – my da says so. That means there aren’t any orcs or wargs or anything, not nearby, anyway… it’s perfectly safe.’

‘I’m not scared!’

Ori leaned forward as well, voice low as if he feared Dori overhearing them through the thick stone.

‘I’m sure it’s not that dangerous… and we could just go, have a look and come straight back, if there’s nothing really there… it would be an adventure…!’

The largest of the dwarflings – something he was quite proud of, often quick to remind his agemates that Gloin was sure he would be a tall, broad dwarrow when he grew – looked pointedly at the wall, vaguely aware that his protest had likely gone unnoticed. He was plenty brave, he just wasn’t stupid and Kili always got them into _trouble_ , even if it was fun, but one day they could _die_ , and Gimli didn’t understand much about that but he guessed it was even worse than receiving a hiding and what horrible thing was worse than _that_ … 

‘Fine, we’ll go without you.’ Kili was on his feet, Ori quick to join him and before the third dwarfling knew it, they were gone.

He waited, long enough that the door swung shut behind them, the latch clicking into place.

‘… okay, okay, wait for me!’

 

* * *

 

Getting out of Dori’s shop and to the door unnoticed was a surprisingly easy task, Ori’s brother far too preoccupied to notice their departure and the armed guard that kept watch over the lands surrounding the main road to Erebor from its great battlements unaware of what was going on so close to the ground, hardly on the lookout for crafty dwarflings.

The door that would lead to stairs which would lead to the door _out_ was heavy but not impossible to open for three pairs of small but determined hands, and before Gimli could voice any more token protests they were following a dark corridor out the side of the mountain. The final door, made of stone but surprisingly unfortified, was a bit harder to budge than its wooden counterpart but merely took a little extra time and elbow grease before opening just enough to allow them to squeeze through.

When the dwarflings stepped outside, any sneaking or possibility of reprimand was proven worth the risk at the sight of great, rocky outcroppings, and lush trees and grass that had only returned years after the ousting of Smaug, even the bright blueness of the sky above enough to coax startled exclamations, so foreign to those born of stone. The land outside the mountain was a veritable wonderland to explore, play in, tear up, and none wasted any time, launching themselves forward and out of the shadow of the mountain.

When they found a small lake hidden behind a copse of tall trees, Gimli conceded that Kili had been right – that he did get great ideas some times.

They played in the water, amidst the trees and, when Kili managed to scramble up a tall oak high enough to see the tips of the ruins of Dale, Ori and Gimli clapped and cheered at his agility.

Their happiness did not last long, however, as Kili lost balance on his descent and fell the rest of the way with a yelp and a hard thud.

Ori was by his side in a moment, Gimli looking around frantically; hoping, for the first time that day, that someone would be around, that someone would notice them. Kili sat up slowly, breathing shallow as he blinked back tears, all dwarflings’ attention drawn to the obvious protrusion under the skin of his forearm.

‘Kili, your arm… it doesn’t look so good…’

Kili bit his lip at Ori’s soft words, tears sliding down his cheeks as the pain registered through his shock. He didn’t want to cry – only babies cried – but couldn’t stop.

Suddenly, Erebor seemed so far away.

‘I-I want my ma…’

Ori nodded sharply, glancing across at Gimli who appeared as pale as Kili himself.

‘Stay here, I’ll go… just… hold on.’

With one final look back over his shoulder, the dwarfling ran for the mountain.

 

* * *

 

Ori made his way straight to the palace though he wasn’t completely sure where to go from there. Very little was going through his mind other than finding someone to help, someone big and grown up and who would know what to do.

He ran into Mister Balin in one of the long halls just off of the throne room, the silver haired dwarf quick to notice a lost-looking dwarfling with moist eyes.

‘Now now… what ever is the matter?’

Ori rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, snuffling loudly.

‘I-I need to… I told Kili I’d find his ma, because he hurt himself and he’s crying but I don’t know where he is and-’

Balin produced a handkerchief from the folds of his robes, mopping the tears from the little boy’s cheeks and chin before taking his hand.

‘You’re in luck then, laddie, for I know exactly where to find him.’

What was already a harrowing experience for any dwarfling – even one far more outspoken and bold – did not seem likely to improve as Ori was lead through to the council chambers. The afternoon conference saw the King Under the Mountain and his queen reviewing trade agreements with their council, something Balin did not seem at all concerned about interrupting despite how important it all appeared to young eyes. Ori did his best to hide behind the elder dwarf’s legs when they came to a halt at the head of the table, but a gnarled albeit firm hand pushed him forward.

Thorin’s gaze lingered on the silent dwarfling only momentarily before flicking to his old friend, but Fili offered a kind smile, turning in his seat and leaning forward to close some of the distance between them. Ori had always liked Kili’s ma, with his calm demeanor and bright eyes. Fili had the habit of seeming both unroyal in his approachability whilst simultaneously utterly noble and composed for the very same reasons, and the dwarfling could almost forget that he was a leader of their people if not for the striking gold crown that sat atop his head amidst intricate flaxen braids, for how warm his smile was.

‘Ori… what’s the matter? Is everything okay?’

‘Apparently, Kili has managed to hurt himself and was calling for you, my queen...’ Balin spoke when Ori was unable to find his voice, squeezing his shoulder encouragingly. ‘Go on, lad, tell them what you know… they won’t bite.’

‘What happened? Where is he?’ When Thorin’s attention fixated on him the dwarfling could feel his nose running and the tears that had finally dried up forming once more.

Ever since he’d known Kili, his father – the _king_ , Dori would emphasise, as if it meant anything more to Ori than that he was _important_ on top of it all – had always been terribly scary and the exact opposite of Kili’s mother. That day was no different and the dwarfling wanted to run home and hide beneath his bed until everyone in the council chambers forgot him.

‘H-he fell out of a tr-tree, s-sir…’

‘A _tree_?’ Thorin repeated, his expression darkening as he shared a look with his queen.

Ori wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say and understood Kili’s plea with clarity – in that instance he wanted nothing more than for Dori to arrive and fix everything, like only grown dwarves could.  

‘He’s outside the mountain?’ Any belligerence was solely the domain of the king as Fili looked nothing but concerned, and Ori took a deep breath before nodding.

Thorin stood, dismissing his council with a wave of his hand.

‘Take us to him.’

 

* * *

 

Kili knew he would be in trouble later – could read it in the expression on his da’s face as he appeared through the trees with Mister Balin, Ori and his ma – but the only emotion that registered at their arrival was relief.

The young prince managed a soft “mama!”, weak as his voice was from pain, and Fili increased his pace, breaking from the group to reach the child first. Kili was swept from his feet carefully, cradled against soft robes and a strong chest as if he were a babe once more. He did not complain – relished in the contact, if anything.  

‘Oh Kili, what have you done to your arm??’

The dwarfling pressed his face against his mother’s shoulder, taking hard, gulping breaths and trying not to jostle his injury while immersing himself as deeply as possible in the familiar warmth and smells of the older dwarf – cedar-wood soap, pipe smoke and something sweeter under it all that never failed to calm him. Footsteps heralded the arrival of the rest of Ori’s rescue party and Kili didn’t need to look to know whose fingers rested on his damp cheek, especially when they trailed down his side and back, searching for other injuries that may have been missed in favour for the obvious break.

‘What are you even doing out here, you stupid boy?’ Thorin’s voice was low and harsh, confirming his anger and concern in equal turns.

‘I’m _sorry_ , Da…!’

The King Under the Mountain let out a sharp exhale at the dwarfling’s teary words, interspersed between hiccups and sniffles, any ire rapidly dissipating in the face of such distress from his dark haired princeling.

Fili shifted the boy in his arms, pressing kisses to his forehead and shushing him with soft, murmured words of comfort.

‘You best get him back to the mountain and see that arm set and bound,’ Balin spoke, Ori and Gimli’s small frames glued to his sides, ‘I’ll see these lads back.’

The uninjured dwarflings watched as their friend was carried back towards Erebor and, despite the adrenaline still thrumming through their veins, Gimli huffed quietly.  

‘I _knew_ he’d get us into trouble…’

 

* * *

 

The next few hours were nothing short of torture borne of helplessness and a child’s pain. Fili felt as much in need of comfort as the injured dwarfling he held still for the healer’s hands, squeezing his eyes closed and willing his grip to remain strong so that no more damage was done as Kili writhed and sobbed while the bone was reset. It was a long and horrible process that saw the princeling silent by its close, fat tears forming at the corners of dark eyes, rolling down flushed cheeks to quivering lips.

Thorin carried him back to their quarters, Fili’s arms feeling too weak and heavy from the episode to be trusted with such something so fragile, though he was hesitant to give him up. Once blood was cleaned away and dirty clothes were changed – gingerly, so painfully aware of causing further discomfort – the King Under the Mountain settled in a seat by the fireplace with the injured dwarfling. Kili’s eyes were still moist but he seemed to settle as he was propped against the older dwarf’s chest, resting his head against a broad shoulder as Thorin rubbed his back in soothing patterns and began to sing, voice deep and steady.

Pain obviously kept proper rest at bay until exhaustion won out, Kili only finding restful sleep late into the night. When the small body eventually relaxed, soft, even breathing barely audible over the spit and crackle of the fireplace, Fili rubbed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath he had not realised he’d been holding.

‘The worst is over, love,’ Thorin’s words were soft, mindful of waking the dwarfling they’d only just managed to see to sleep, ‘… are you alright?’

Fili nodded, the action automatic before he’d even properly considered the question – if he had, his response would have been quite different because that afternoon had been one of his worst, and he had aided the clean up of Laketown after its encounter with dragon fire. It was likely his husband recognised this, if the sympathetic set of his mouth and brows were any indication, and the blond dwarf had no doubts that Thorin would have been by his side in a moment if not for Kili’s small frame still resting against him.

‘Get some rest – I will look after Kili.’ The older dwarf tilted his head towards the decorative screens and heavy curtains that hid their bed from view, and Fili found he didn’t have the energy to protest.

Rising from his place opposite his king and the sleeping dwarfling, Fili closed the small distance between them and leant down to kiss soft brown hair, his hand resting momentarily atop his husband’s that rested protectively on Kili’s back – just to feel the even in and out of his breaths, taking comfort in the proof that the lad was okay.   

Thorin risked moving the dwarfling enough to lean in for a kiss of his own, the meeting of their lips tender albeit brief before Fili straightened up and made for the warmth of their bed. He did not know how well he would sleep – whether due to his own mind or the possibility that Kili would wake again later – but his body was certainly ready to try.

He had never felt older than he did that night.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two times, out of many, when Thorin and Fili could have told Kili everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, maybe, something will actually happen in this story more than fluff, introspection and Fili worrying. 
> 
> But it is not this day.

 

* * *

 

It was not a lie, Thorin had always insisted – the truth that they never spoke of, that lived side by side with them in the form of the bright-eyed dwarfling who smiled and laughed and called them Da and Mama. It was the omission of an unnecessary burden that would be revealed in due time, not when the boy still crept into their room at night for safety from imagined dragons and goblins, not even when he started to sprout the first dark hairs on his jaw, or was old enough to stay up for celebrations. They never talked about _when_ they would, it seemed, only _when they would not_ and there had been so many opportunities passed that it seemed it would take far more mettle than either of them had to simply _tell_ Kili.

So many chances passed in favour of keeping what happiness they had – what stability had finally been struck in their life after centuries of cold, hunger and _wanting_.

_Another time_ , they would think. _Another place_.

 

* * *

 

One of the final areas of Erebor to see full restoration was the Gallery of Kings, its mighty pillars, polished floors and great doorways having seen some of the worst of the wrath of Smaug during his occupation of the mountain. It was low on a list of far more crucial things that needed seeing to – structural integrity, the forward battlements for protection and, most importantly, food – but Thorin was determined to see it restored eventually, for the visages of his many ancestors that had come before deserved to stand in a hall of grandeur, not of desecrated stone and filth.

The day that Balin declared it finally safe and restored, Thorin had taken Kili by the hand and lead him past massive statues and great tomes of writing dedicated to the likes of Náin, Dáin I and Thròr. The dwarfling had pleaded to be lifted atop the older dwarf’s shoulders, stretching his hands up to the vast ceiling as if the extra feet provided would be enough to touch the towering figures above them.

‘They’ll make one of you too, Da?’

Thorin tightened his grip on small ankles, keeping the dwarfling steady as he leant particularly far back.

‘Yes, eventually… all kings of the Durin line are memoralised in this way.’

Kili hummed softly in thought, leaning forward once more and grabbing great chunks of Thorin’s hair for no other reason, the king supposed, than it was there and he could.  

‘So one day I’ll get a statue too?’

‘Aye, but not for a very long time… otherwise it would be quite wee in comparison.’

The dwarfling practically squawked at the implication and Thorin laughed, deep and unrestrained, their combined voices echoing throughout the chamber as their great ancestors watched on, kingly and stoic.

‘No, my little princeling, you will make a great king and stand tall and equal with our forebears…’

Thorin wondered what would be etched into the stone that footed Kili’s visage long after, he prayed, he was dead and laid to rest in the heart of the mountain. It was tradition to carry the name of the father, and it would not have been unseemly for the use of a mother of Durin’s lineage to inherit that space in lieu of it, but Kili had not been Son of Dís for many years.

When Kili began asking questions about Thráin, whose brief kingship had been in exile and, as a result, saw him starkly absent from the Gallery of Kings, Thorin knew it could be that moment that he told Kili the truth. The discussion of their bloodline – of Thráin, his children, and his children’s children – presented a perfect opportunity.

Thorin considered it for but a moment before tightening his grip on little legs still resting over his shoulders. They remained in the gallery for hours, wandering and talking, until Fili came searching and Kili was simply _theirs_ again.

 

* * *

 

The fifteenth year of young dwarflings’ lives marked the beginning of skill building and, for those who would be given proper instruction, weapons training. Kili took to it like he did to everything – with unveiled enthusiasm and fervor, swinging at Dwalin with his wooden swords like he would bludgeon him to death in lieu of sharp steel. Fili attended when he could find the time, enjoying watching and, upon accepting invitation from Thorin’s tattooed general, aiding in demonstration and instruction alike.

Kili had always been a whirlwind of energy, far more likely to run than walk, and leap than look, and Dwalin praised the lad’s ferocity but his attention span saw that progress was a little slow when it came to finer points that were not simply hitting something until it stopped moving.

Two weeks into his instruction saw Kili disheartened and frustrated, throwing his practice sword to the side in a fit of anger when Dwalin caught his unguarded flank for the umpteenth time that morning.

‘On the off chance you haven’t managed to incapacitate an enemy within the first moment of entering combat, you’re going to need to be able to defend yourself, lad.’

‘I don’t care anymore! This is stupid!’ And with that, the dwarfling stomped from the training room, making sure to detour past his discarded weapon in order to kick it with as much ferocity as he could muster.

Fili, who had been watching from the sidelines since the lesson had commenced that day, shared a wry smile with Dwalin and the massive dwarf simply shrugged the outburst off with a chuckle, well accustomed to high emotion within his training halls.

‘I seem to remember doing the same thing myself, on an occasion or two…’

‘I recall,’ Dwalin joined him on a low stone bench that surrounded one of the many small sparring fields, ‘and if the lad shares anything with the King, it will not be the last tantrum, even as he grows.’

Fili laughed and nodded his agreement.

‘He seems to be doing well, though… he will surely grow skilled with a blade in necessary time.’

‘Oh, aye, but at the moment, the wee lad’s disappointed in himself. He cannae understand that a couple of weeks swinging a wooden sword won’t make him Thorin Oakenshield, even though they share blood.’

A heavy sigh welled in the golden dwarf’s chest as he considered the implications of Dwalin’s observation, the gruff warrior always having been strangely in-tune and sympathetic to the nuances of small hearts and minds.

‘Kili expects so much of himself… tries so hard to impress, lest he be thought a disappointment.’

‘As you were, and Thorin before. It is the burden of purpose, and expectation that comes with crowns, fine palaces and jewels.’

Fili knew, in that moment, the topic he was avoiding and refused to ignore it any longer.

‘Do you think it cruel of us, Dwalin? To proclaim him our prince as if we brought him into this world? As if he owes us something?’

The bluntness of Fundin’s second son was something that had always served Durin’s heirs well. He was like an eternal punch to the jaw, guarding against idiocy, and peerless might always ready to lend aid all the same. Dwalin could be counted among few dwarrows who did not bluster or huff in the face of an awkward situation, never shying away from speaking his mind to those who asked for it.

‘I cannae fault you for the way you treat that boy – never a happier, more vibrant dwarfling have I known.’  

There was a long silence as Dwalin considered his words, and Fili waited for inevitable judgment. ‘But I think you know what such pressures may do to someone so wild.’

And Fili did know, fearing the tamping of Kili’s spirit every time he held the boy still, or scolded him with firm words. He wondered if all parents experienced it – the apprehension of it – or if it only came forth when such life was met with an uncertain hand.

That night, when Kili picked at his food and avoided answering Thorin’s enquiries about the progress of his training, Fili considered telling him. He wondered if the truth would remove some of the burden, wondered if knowing Kili that he was not _born_ into it as much as _chosen_ , handpicked by those who loved him most would comfort and allow him some peace of mind.

But he had not the heart and instead devised to have Thorin teach their lad the bow, to see if they could distract him from the disappointments that his melee combat was resulting in. And when it had the desired effect – Kili proving himself nothing short of a natural within a matter of hours – Fili was able to push his apprehensions from his mind.

Kili was still young. There was time. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili wonders what his future holds, and finds he is at odds with Thorin and Fili.

 

* * *

 

It was not an abnormal thing to hear the King Under the Mountain described as stoic, dispassionate and removed - "incapable of emotion", Dáin had jested once in council, though Thorin had later expressed his disbelief that it was without honest sentiment. Kili had never understood it - had never found himself watching his father and wondering what was going through his mind as Thorin had always seemed something of an open book to him.

For instance, he could tell exactly how severe his chewing out would be that evening, after arriving late to what had been described as a "crucial diplomatic meeting", to within what decibel level the King's voice would reach – all from his expression alone.

Kili thought it was testament to his ability to read others. Fili had always disagreed, contending that anyone who had caused as much trouble for another dwarf throughout their life would be equally adept at identifying the ire of their victim as it would be so familiar to them.

The golden dwarf’s expression was about as cordial as his husband's upon noticing Kili sneaking behind the swathes of onlookers, doing his best to remain unseen as he made his way to the crown prince’s place at the right of the king. It was highly unlikely that their guests did not notice his sudden appearance and guess the nature of his initial absence with their sharp eyes and sharper minds, though they made no outward indications of it. Elves they were; whose presence, despite having earned some forgiveness through their aid in the battle for Erebor, still caused Thorin to clench his jaw and square his shoulders as if expecting a fight at any moment.

‘They are crucial talks,’ Fili had said the night before, when it had just been the two of them in front of the fire in the King’s chambers, ‘for without the permission of Thranduil to travel through his kingdom, our supplies and kin alike are forced to travel leagues around the forest – dangerous leagues.’

‘We already have trade agreements with them, don’t we? Surely they are unlikely to make things difficult, lest they cease?’ Kili’s place sprawled on more than his fair portion of the settee they inhabited, head pillowed on strong legs, allowed him an unhindered view of the older dwarf’s features.

He watched as Fili smiled and shook his head, taking a long drag of his pipe before blowing the smoke out above their heads. The fingers of his free hand continued to comb through Kili’s silky brown hair, ever unbraided and wild, and when he spoke at length it seemed more as if he voiced the thoughts running through his brain than actually intending on articulating his concerns.

‘It is not the elves whom I am worried about.’

The crown prince laughed until he noticed the other dwarf’s expression and saw it as the half-joke it was.

‘… you’re worried about Da saying something? Stabbing someone?’

‘He is long past such outbursts, thank the stone, but it is still an easy thing to cause offense... our peoples are at odds by nature, I have found.’

Kili considered the words – turned them over in his mind, considered the few elves he had met throughout his life, though they had been few and far between thanks to still-festering wounds that had been less soothed and more ignored since the reclaiming of the mountain. Dwarves were a secretive people and, even though they all knew the necessity of such relations, every outsider that passed into the great halls of Erebor was watched carefully, lest they be trouble. Kili did not quite understand it, taking too much enjoyment from stories of foreign lands and unique peoples, leaving for the towns of men and as close as he could get to Greenwood the Great whenever a break from his responsibilities allowed. Of course, the latter he never admitted to his kinsmen.

‘I don’t think they’re so bad…’ His words, after a time of silence punctuated only by the sounds of the fire and winter’s winds howling through the Lonely Mountain’s vast halls, saw Fili’s gaze drawn to him, ‘The elves, I mean.’

The golden dwarf seemed to visibly startle at the comment, fingers stilling and teeth snapping around the metal of his pipe’s stem.

‘If you care a mite about my heart, you will never say anything like that in front of your da.’

Kili couldn’t help but laugh at the expression – how Fili looked near ill at the thought of the arguments that would abound from a like conversation between such fiery dwarrows, with whose tempers he was intimately acquainted. Fair brows did not unfurrow, though, nor did broad shoulders relax and the young prince did his best to ease the tension – something strange between them, and palpably heavy for its irregularity.

‘I mean, I’m not saying I’d run off with them, to live in trees and dance naked under the moonlight… I just don’t know if they are worthy of the blame we pin,’ the strain did not lessen and he fumbled for more words to explain, ‘We’re very different – as you said – so maybe their hesitance to sacrifice their kin all those years ago does not indicate their unreliability, but instead how devoted they are to their own people…’

Where Thorin was an open book, Fili, strange as it seemed at first glance, was often the enigma most accused the king of being. True enough, the Golden Queen – a title that had originated within a group of traders from the mannish kingdom of Gondor and caused much amusement in Erebor’s courts for weeks – had a smile on his face more often than not, be it wide and joyous or bordering on smug and smirkish but its regularity meant it held little to no meaning. Thorin’s pride, ire and rage were plain, uncontrollable and fervent, but Fili’s emotions could hardly be labeled; what he felt at any given time could be one of a million things – all of them hidden and stowed away equally well – or nothing at all.

Which was why the anger Kili’s words provoked shocked him.

‘We are loyal to our people without _cowardice_.’ In that instance, Kili could see Thorin so clearly in Fili – could see the familial resemblance of uncle and nephew rarely noticeable to one so used to beloved faces. ‘We honour our alliances – we bleed so that those weaker than us do not have to.’

‘Ma, I didn’t mean it like-’

‘Intention or no, you have said it all the same. They were wrong to abandon us in our time of need, and the grievances they committed did not end there,’ Kili noticed the minute quiver running through the tips of the older dwarf’s fingers, a tick that spoke of long weeks in elf dungeons with no sign of freedom without disloyalty, ‘– there is no justification for the acts of elves.’

They had sat in silence for a long while after that, until the night grew late and it was time to retire. The conversation still hung over them even with the rising of a new day’s sun and Kili knew he had done himself no favours in an effort to prove his regret by arriving late to the diplomatic ceremony, on top of it all.

Late and unkempt, though he doubted any dwarves were surprised, or expected any less (or more). He had always been dissimilar from his kingly father and ever-regal mother, in appearance and – if the night before had meant anything – perspective.

So much so that, upon catching the eye of a beautiful, fire-haired elf maiden that stood tall and proud behind the elven king, Kili sent her a wink and prayed his parents be too preoccupied to notice. 

 

* * *

 

There was to be celebration that night – plans made in advance and with optimism that talks with the Greenwood’s elves would go well – in the very heart of the mountain. A summons was issued before Kili could make his way to the great halls that would already be filling with dwarf and elf alike and the knowledge that festivities would soon be underway quickened his gait as he made to the royal wing.

Dwalin stood by the large doors of the king’s chambers, sharp eyes resting on Kili the moment he turned the corner. He was unarmed but the general’s presence alone spoke volumes of enduring distrust, and just how deep concerns of betrayal ran.

‘So you do know how to follow directions, lad,’ the burly dwarf looked from boots to beard, as if confirming it was indeed the prince that stood before him, ‘it might curb his temper, you coming so prompt-like.’

Kili supposed that his grin came out more as a grimace, Dwalin’s strong hand resting on his shoulder just a moment before being placed on the door at his back in preparation of the not unsubstantial push it would take to see it opened.

‘You really think so? You have known my father your entire life, and you think his mighty temper might be dampened by punctuality?’

Dwalin watched the young dwarf for a moment before shrugging massive shoulders, his upper lip curling in something not unlike a smirk.

‘No, but at least you haven’t made the situation even worse for yourself, for once.’

They were both silent for a touch before scoffing – what can one say, after all, in the face of a universal truth that is informative enough to warrant the breath?

Kili entered the massive room and heard the door shut, firm and secure behind him. The only light within the room came from the hearth, the candles remaining unlit as it was unlikely anyone would spend much time in there that night. It illuminated just enough to make movement easy, casting great shadows on the two dwarves that sat by it, voices low in deep conference. Crossing the stone floor, Kili stopped a short distance from them and waited a heartbeat for acknowledgement.

‘… you wanted to see me?’

Neither dwarf looked up until they had finished their conversation – a wordless scolding in its own right, neither needing to say “do not interrupt” as it was plenty clear. Thorin rubbed at his bearded jaw a moment later, gesturing for Kili to sit across from them as he visibly tamped his irritation.

‘We told you, quite clearly, that you were not to be late this afternoon.’

He knew it would do him no favours, slouching in the high-backed chair and resting his chin on his palm, but Kili did it anyway – simply because it was comfortable, what did it matter if he sat in a _manner befitting_ – and raised a shoulder nonchalantly at his king’s words.

‘I’m sorry – I lost track of time. But I showed up, didn’t I?’

Kili could do many things well, by that stage of his life. He could hit a moving target from three hundred yards with accuracy, could skin a hare as fast as the most practiced of hands… and, it seemed, never failed to find the wrong words to unerringly hurtle his father into a fit of rage.

Thorin was on his feet in seconds, his temper well and truly relit as he unleashed a tirade of _you foolish child_ , _care nothing about your responsibilities_ , _never listen to what we tell you_ and _do you think at all or just act and hope for the best_. Kili sunk further in his chair, as low as he could get as if it would eventually enable him to sink through the wood and disappear completely.

Fili spoke only after Thorin’s lecture paused long enough that he could take his hand without being shaken off, tugging the older dwarf to sit back down so he could properly see the sullen, chastised youth.

‘How you conduct yourself, how you prioritise, act and appear… it all matters, Kili,’ the words were so far from new Kili visibly grimaced but the golden dwarf continued nonetheless, ‘You are the crown prince – one day, you will be king – and we need to ensure you are ready.’

‘And if you decide that I am never ready to be king? What will you do then, find another?’

Thorin’s exhale was harsh and it was likely that he would have been on his feet again, pacing the room if it weren’t for Fili’s hand firmly on his forearm, anchoring him.

‘You are still young, there is time, and you have within you limitless potential if you would just _listen…_ ’

‘What if I don’t wish for it? What if I am not meant to be king? The only thing that tethers me to such fate is that I am your son – that does not mean I _want_ that, or that it is something meant for _me_.’

It was not clear what made both older dwarves tense and sit that bit straighter, Thorin’s lips thinning and Fili’s fingers visibly tightening around his spouse's forearm. Kili saw the opening for what it was, though, and forged ahead. ‘Being crown prince, I do not think it… _fits_ me. Everything I do that is _right_ , and _proper_ … it feels…’

As he struggled for the word – something like _wrong_ , _cloying_ or _unnatural_ – the King Under the Mountain regained his wits and when he spoke, his tone was enough to have Kili swallowing his words.

‘I will hear no more of it, Kili. You are crown prince, and that will not change because you prefer running amuck and avoiding your lessons.’

Fili looked as if he would say something, though it hardly seemed he wanted to, but in the end he remained silent. ‘It is your birthright – your honour and burden both. You will understand it in time.’

No more discussion would take place on the matter, at least not that night, and Kili rose to his feet with a heavy heart and a bow of his head. Though it was obvious not everything between them had been resolved, Thorin closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, and Kili accepted similar from Fili before he was dismissed.

And though he loved them – so much, unreservedly – as Kili sat by his parents that night, watched them smile diplomatically, heard them speak to their guests with such veiled detachment noticeable only to those who knew them drinking, laughing and singing, he did not like what they were. What it meant his future held. 

He left the celebration early and did not sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still with me on this one? I feel like the last couple of chapters have been quite off, but hope and pray that the final few will be decent. 
> 
> ... I am still enjoying writing it, though. Bloody Durins and their stupid, gorgeous faces... (´⌣`ʃƪ)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Fili make plans, and Kili looks forward to his birthday.

 

* * *

 

As it seemed to be with all children and those who reared them, Kili grew rapidly and before Thorin knew it his young prince's majority was upon them. Gone was the boy he could sit upon his shoulders, or dangle upside down from his ankles to shrieks and cries of joy, and though the dwarf that dwarfling had become was bright, jovial and kind all the same, the King Under the Mountain found himself feeling bereft.

Debates surrounding Kili's future had tapered off to rare events only brought up in the face of flagrant rule bending or irresponsibility – a natural but purely reactionary argument of _so maybe I am not meant to be_ that was quashed as quickly as it came – and the future king of Erebor applied himself to his study with enough verve to keep even Balin happy. Thorin doubted it was the end of it - not while Kili still disappeared into the cities men whenever able, wore his hair unbraided and his beard short in the face of their customs - but they were granted the reprieve and neither him nor Fili were going to risk hollowing out old wounds until the time called for it.

And then, it was time.

In that there was no time left, no more time that could be spent avoiding, the realisation coming with the last snows slowly melting in anticipation of warmer months, Kili's 70th birthday drawing ever closer. The notion had Thorin’s stomach twisting and a dull ache take root in his temple, seeing him into a black mood in the weeks preceding even the beginnings of celebratory planning. Those who encountered the king’s unfavourable disposition attributed it to the hard winter they had passed and Kili himself identified the last vestiges of cold in old bones as the cause of such sourness (and received a sharp swat up the back of his head for the effort). Thorin allowed them such erroneous assumptions without voicing protest, though, for they came so much easier than truths.

Of course, Fili knew it was more. He still chuckled at Kili's jibes about age and fitness, nodded solemnly when councilmen recounted figures of lost crops and livestock, but Thorin's young consort had always seen much, if not all. Fili could identify the cause of the faintest or most tremendous ire in his king and secret keeping between them had always been a veritable impossibility - a frustrating truth when attempting sweet, surprising notions but necessary in the face of a stoic dwarf so prone to losing himself in an emotional mire.

Fili knew, and in turn Thorin knew that he was being seen through as if his head were comprised of glass, so it was far from surprising when the topic came about in the dead of night, the King Under the Mountain robbed of sleep by tumultuous thoughts not for the first time that week.

Thorin opened sore, dry eyes – closed only on the premise of trying to sleep as opposed to gaining any real relief from it – and watched as his golden dwarf shifted and moved beside him. Fili wriggled and rolled under their covers so that he could rest his arms and a softly bearded chin on the broad expanse of Thorin’s chest, the darkness staining the delicate skin beneath his own eyes speaking of disturbed and restless sleep.

‘When shall we speak of what is bothering you? For though I find that constant frown upon your brow ever so endearing, I am tired for your sake.’

The long inhalation and subsequent bullish huff the statement provoked from the King Under the Mountain was enough to raise Fili’s head up and down with the expansion of his chest and subsequent decompression, but the younger dwarf remained otherwise still and silent. Thorin raised a hand to slip his fingers amidst tresses of golden hair barely held back by a short fishtail braid at its ends, enjoying the familiar softness and taking what comfort he could from such a simple pleasure.

‘He has almost reached maturity… he has not actively needed us for nigh-on a decade, but only recently has it occurred to me that he is grown.’

And it was true – as the milestone of Kili’s majority neared, as they planned the celebrations that would see him cast off any premises of youth – Thorin was forced to recognise that the dwarfling they had raised was no longer in need of care, or sheltering.

‘I think we have done a fine job – far from something to warrant such a dark mood.’

‘It is time we told him.’

They were silent a long while, sharing nothing but a gaze laced with apprehension but wordless agreement. Fili’s fingers traced what tattooed skin he could find at the edges of Thorin’s tunic before moving over it and continuing along dark lines by memory alone. The King Under the Mountain wrapped an arm tight around the younger dwarf’s waist, tugging him closer before going still as he watched the blackness that permeated the great ceiling of the royal chambers.

‘After his age ceremony? Before it? I fear tainting what should be a joyous time with such… grim news.’

‘The day before, at the latest. He needs to hear it, and we have already put it off too long.’

Fili did not disagree – could not disagree – and neither slept well that night.

 

* * *

 

Though the great celebration would see Kili into his first year of adulthood, the days leading up to the anniversary of his birth saw nothing but youthful excitement bubble and overflow from the crown prince. Any conversation held was enough to demonstrate his anticipation, whether in his constant, bright smile or the enthusiasm he spoke with, gesticulating wildly and laughing even more merrily than usual.

His spirit was unfettered, and Thorin – however Kili reacted to the news they would give – did not feel remorse for the decisions they made, years ago when things had been so different.

Fili and Thorin had agreed that, on the eve of Kili’s birthday, they would sit him down – tell him everything – and though the decision had long been made, it still plagued thoughts and heart alike. The night before the fated conversation saw the King Under the Mountain walking the halls of his great fathers, his steps bringing him to the Gallery of Kings and the strong facades of the dwarves that he had sought answers from since he was a lad, though they were ever silent and uncooperative.

He was startled from his reverie by footfalls after a good while sitting at the feet of his grandfather’s massive likeness, resting against solid stone and taking long pulls from his pipe before sending the smoke up to disappear into the darkness of soaring ceilings. Thorin was about to bid his beloved return to bed – for who else would think to look for him anywhere but in chambers, or even seek him at all so late – when a voice, equally familiar, silenced him.

‘Da? You’re still awake?’

Kili crossed the massive gallery to the feet of Thror, easily pulling himself up onto the available space – a shelf almost, just enough to fit two grown dwarves – between stone boots that Thorin inhabited.

Thorin removed the bit of his pipe from between his lips just enough to speak without impediment as Kili arranged himself, happy to slip his feet next to the older dwarf’s and mirror him by leaning back against carven rock.

‘Aye, sleep evades me this night. I thought to seek council.’

Kili tilted his head back to view Thror’s towering form, though it was unlikely much was visible from such an angle, and Thorin remembered tiny hands reaching for untouchable heights from shoulders which had once seemed so lofty a perch.

‘From stone? Surely Ma is better council – or Mister Balin – than a silent, empty chamber.’

The King Under the Mountain raised a shoulder in a shade of response, Kili’s words true enough but he had always found a certain level of solace within that place even when it had still reeked of dragon and his eyes were long accustomed to brighter, warmer places.

‘You wander here just the same. It is late, and you should be resting.’

The young crown prince spoke even as his gaze continued to flick from statue to column, as if seeing them anew from their perch.

‘I cannot sleep either – too much going on in the next few days, I suppose,’ Kili stood then and moved from across to beside, barely able to settle himself between the solid rock and Thorin but seemingly uncaring to the scant amount of room offered, ‘You’ve always said you think best in this place, that it is peaceful… figured I would try it out for myself.’

Something tight and hot throbbed beneath breast and within stomach, Thorin taking but a moment to identify it as a burning affection for the dwarf that rested against his shoulder, shameless and unrepentant in his pursuit of physical contact. In that moment, the King Under the Mountain felt ready to combat any foe, undertake any task and commit any feat of heroism to bring his – _son_ , the heart provided, while _nephew_ was supplied by head – boy any level of peace.  

Thorin spoke at length, his voice strangely coarse to his own ears for the sudden well of emotion he experienced.

‘I fear you will be underwhelmed.’ If Kili noticed the change in his tone, he made no outward indication of it. ‘I concede, my forefathers have never been much help to me.’

Dark eyes were just visible beneath thick, dark lashes due to limited light within the Gallery of Kings and Thorin held the younger dwarf’s gaze for a number of heartbeats as Kili seemed to search for something in his face. What he found that saw him smiling with characteristic brilliance, the king did not know.

‘ _Your_ forefathers, perhaps.’ Kili kicked his feet out and pressed closer, as if settling in for a long while. ‘Mine are a comfort.’

Thorin wrapped his arm around lithely muscled shoulders and held the lad tight, sending a silent prayer to whoever listened to the greedy hearts and desires of deceptive dwarves that things between them would not change.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things should come to a head in the next chapter, and some things will actually happen. I hope. That's the plan. We shall see how it all goes <3
> 
> Thank you for the comments last chapter, as well - it is always heartening to know people are still interested, and it really does motivate :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation.

 

In the end, their planning was rendered for naught.

All of their patience, then their stalling and avoidance of the subject saw the ability to tell Kili the way they wanted to taken away completely. Instead, it was done far from their presence – in a seedy tavern by an old dwarf who had ingested one too many ales and easily recognised Kili’s fine features and the royal crest embroidered into his clothes.

‘It’s funny, really – I could ne’er put my finger on it, ‘til a couple of years ago…’

Kili shared a sideward glance with Gimli – his drinking partner for the evening – when the heavy bulk of the unknown dwarrow fell into a seat across the table from them. They drank deeply from their tankards in hopes that a lack of response would see him stumbling off in another direction.  

‘Y’see, I was in Ered Luin… would buy mining tools from the king’s forge… and I never remembered him having a wee lad.’

The prince did not have enough fingers and toes to count how many times he’d heard _I knew your father_ or _in Ered Luin, I had dealings with your mother_ from strange dwarves for reasons that seemed quite mysterious to him and usually it was a simple feat to brush them off. However, this dwarf drew his attention, if only out of curiousity, as rarely did the stories pertain to him.

‘Perhaps you simply missed it. I was not long growing in Ered Luin before Erebor was reclaimed.’

The inebriated dwarf shook his head sharply, the braided ends of his beard sent flying up about his ears and he slammed his heavy, half-drained ale tankard on the table.

‘No, no, you don’t get it – I’ve worked this out. You’re the Lady Dís’s boy! The one that was orphaned when she passed!’

Of course, none of it made sense to Kili – Dís, Daughter of Durin’s line, was mother of his mother, and his father’s younger sister, the name known well to him – but Kili was son of Thorin and Fili and he could not be _both_.

‘You must be mistaken.’

‘There’s no mistakin’ it! For no other child of the Lady Dís exists, do they? Other than his majesty Fili, but there was a great difference in ages and you and he are not to be confused.’

The expression on Kili’s face must have betrayed his emotions, enough to summon the two dwarves that shadowed his steps when he left the palace. The burly guards made their way to the table before the inebriated dwarrow even finished speaking. He was pulled from his chair and seen out of the tavern, but the damage had already been done.

The soldiers Thorin and Fili had appointed were not trained in protecting their charge from truth, after all.

It was amazing what the library and record rooms that Kili had largely ignored throughout his life held when one knew what to look for. The scribes had been working ever since the reclaiming of the mountain to fill in their history – the missing years and what had been destroyed by fire and neglect – and there were books dedicated to the Durin lineage with fresh ink on new pages.

And he _couldn’t_ be both. He _wasn’t_ both, or more – he wasn’t what he _was_ – and the realisation was like a physical blow to his chest. The breath was knocked from his lungs, his legs felt weak and his heart sped up to a rate that was not produced by even the most rigorous of sparring. 

Balin found him as such, staring – without seeing – at ink-filled pages and the dwarf elder simply sighed, pulling a heavy chair over to sit beside him.

‘… it is true?’

A nod, and gnarled hands reached to close the book, hiding its unwanted realities.

‘It is.’

Kili noticed that his hands were shaking and tried to still them by gripping at the thick material of his sleeves but it seemed to do little. His teeth felt liable to chatter behind tight lips, and nothing made sense, not even his own body.

‘… why would they not tell me?’

Balin looked his age in that moment, tired and spread thin.

‘They always meant to, but feared what it would mean… and how you would react.’

‘ _Why_?’

It was unnecessary to state that Kili did not ask why they were fearful, but a much broader question of _why would they do this_. Both knew it for what it was.

‘That, lad… that is something only they can tell you.’

 

* * *

 

Strong emotions can manifest in the strangest of ways, and by the time Kili was pushing into council chambers, thoughts of sorrow and depression were buried deep beneath his anger. The question of _why_ had transformed into _why not, why would they not_ and _how could they_. All things that had seemed so solid not an hour before – like no matter what happened in his life, some things could always be counted on, some people would always be there – were suddenly muddy and possibly transitory.

His ability to read his family obviously went both ways and it was as if his sudden appearance – furious and wild as he was – was enough to tell Thorin and Fili exactly what had happened and what he approached them about. They saw the chamber quickly emptied and Kili went to sit, only to stand a moment later, feeling stronger for his height.

‘I have read a great many interesting things this morning… and heard a world more.’

The older dwarves looked ill as their suspicions were undoubtedly confirmed but they did not speak.

‘Why did you not tell me? How could you _lie_ to me for this long?’ His voice was stronger than he had expected and did not tremble despite the way emotion seemed to tug various parts of his throat, leaving it raw and dry.

‘We did not mean to keep it from you,’ Fili spoke up, brow furrowed and already visibly penitent in the face of such accusations, ‘we planned to speak to you this evening – before your age ceremony.’

Kili scoffed, uttering a disbelieving and severe phrase in Khuzdul and his brother felt unable to chastise, any authority he’d once had seemingly removed in light of recent revelations.

Thorin gripped Kili’s shoulder, seeing him into the chair across from his own. They were close enough that their knees knocked when one or the other moved and the young dwarf leant as far back as his seat would allow in spite, where normally he would seek the contact.

‘Your mother died when you were young. We adopted you as our own and gave you the best childhood we could…’

He had guessed as much – it had seemed the only possibility with what was recorded – but to hear it aloud was more jarring than he had anticipated.

‘You mean you adopted me and fabricated a story that would suit you.’

The king’s upper lip twitched sharply, mouth twisting into a sneer that showed teeth. It was not so much aggressive as it was self-deprecating, however, and some part of Kili reveled in it while it caused the rest of him _pain_.

‘It was what you needed at the time.’

Kili saw red, pushing his chair back sharply enough that the wood shrieked against stone and it fell to the ground with a clatter. The prince backed away from the older dwarves, throwing his arms out between them as if to keep them at bay should they attempt to console.  

‘You say that as if you are capable of knowing what I need! What did you know?? What do you know now?! You have caused me nothing but pain and yet you still stand by what you did!’

Fili found his voice in time to protest when the tirade stopped long enough to facilitate deep, heaving breaths.

‘Kili, just listen to what he has to say…’

Kili’s anger, however, would not be placated and it mingled with hurt and confusion until his throat was tight and hot tears prickled at the backs of his eyes.

‘Listen to who – who is he to me?!’

Fili was helpless, cowed by his darling dwarfling’s righteous anger, and Thorin recoiled as if struck bodily by fierce words. ‘He is not my father! No more than you are my _mother_ – no, you are my uncle and brother and never have a more insidious pair adeptly blinded one they professed to love to the truth!’

‘No, not _professed_ ,’ Thorin tried once more, though he allowed Kili to keep the significant distance between them, ‘We love you more than gem and stone, child, and we never meant to bring you pain. All we wanted for you was joy, and safety… to keep your heart from bearing the reality of your lineage.’

Kili listened but did not allow himself to react outwardly and it was as if that enabled him to block the words entirely. His anger festered and it was unlikely that anything would have soothed him in that moment. All the assurances of love and good intentions hardly seemed justification for such a grandiose lie.  

And eventually, everything that could be said – or that they were willing to say – had been said and they sat in silence, the tension palpable in a way it had never been between the three of them.

 Fili tried a final time – to explain, to comfort, to _mend_ – and the tightness in his jaw, the set of his shoulders, all of him seemed utterly _defeated_.

‘Kili…’

But Kili could not – could not listen, could not stay, could not do whatever was asked of him – and instead he fled.

That he left his _brother_ and _uncle_ behind – such foreign concepts to him, utterly unknown and seemingly unknowable – was not lost on him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found that chapter really difficult to write. Tolkien is the dialogue master, in my opinion, and I was definitely reminded of what a title that is. Because good dialogue is hard :(


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kili makes a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small chapter, just to get back into the swing of it after neglecting this work for a time. Unfortunately real life has been manic, and my university papers still refuse to write themselves, so updates will probably still be sporadic but I promise I'll finish this with a little more time.

 

* * *

 

It was obvious to Kili that all involved and aware hoped the matter would simply cease to matter in time, and that things would return to normal with little to no interference. Celebrations were put on hold though the prince of Erebor was acknowledged as having transitioned into adulthood, and the days following the ceremony – an affair that had been stilted and uncomfortable enough with emotions still simmering – felt like some of the loneliest Kili had ever known.

Fili had tried to speak to him, ever persistent despite many a failed attempt, Kili’s refusal ranging from slammed doors and barrages of foul language to utter snubbing, but the younger dwarf would not be coaxed from his emotional mire. Thorin had attempted words only once after the confrontation and things had deteriorated rapidly, the king’s temper flaring at ‘childish behaviour’ and ‘unnecessary, insensitive words’ until he showed himself from his charge’s chambers with a slammed door of his own.

The pain he was causing his family was not lost on Kili – far from, it felt like punishment committed against him each time his brother realised he would get no response once more, blue eyes bright with emotion and remorse though his bearing never faltered. The prince steeled himself. Though it hurt in the deep, unchangeable part of him – the same part that longed to be beneath stone and ached when away from it, that would forever bear his affection for those that had raised him – he suffered from far more toxic wounds and to see his pain shared acted as a balm upon them.  

With the passing of days came enough rain to see the River Running and the Long Lake both tumultuous and swollen. Kili took what opportunities he could to leave the mountain – hunting parties, patrols – and relished in the activity, for being at home with those he knew best reminded him near constantly of how things had changed. Familiar halls did not comfort as much as they tore at wounds as they tried to heal and a night at the reestablished guard post of Ravenhill saw Kili to the only decision that he believed had a chance of changing anything. 

While watching the far-off lights of the reestablished Laketown, barely visible through the downpour he and the other members of that eve’s patrol found themselves subjected to, Erebor’s only prince resolved to leave. Upon returning to the mountain with the rising of the sun, its light feeble behind heavy clouds, the young dwarf packed what he could carry, drew his hood and departed once more with the day’s first caravans. None of the dwarves – motivated but exhausted all the same – paid the anonymous traveller amongst them any heed and the guards that oversaw Erebor’s entrance remained blissfully unaware.

A final glance over his shoulder and Kili left the great kingdom he had grown up in with a heavier heart than expected. His intent remained clear – distance, he prayed, would gift with clarity – but upon hefting his pack over shoulder, on his way from the royal dwellings, he’d found himself unable to refrain from faltering by the sturdy doors that lead from the hall and into the king’s chambers. Pushing heavy wood just enough to step inside, Kili crossed the vast room, the soles of his boots soft against stone with careful steps, until the sleeping forms of his uncle and brother were visible in the dying flames of the fireplace.

As if sensing another in the room, Thorin shifted beneath the heavy covers, brow creasing until mollified by Fili nestling tight against his side and soon they both stilled once more. It would have been an easy thing to wake them – Kili would have only needed to speak their names and he warranted they would be awake in moments – but he knew them too well to believe they would do anything other than attempt to stop him. No explanation, no attempt at convincing them of the merits of his thoughts would persuade and it seemed far likelier that they would see him locked away before coming to agreement.  He wanted to say goodbye – though his anger had not abated yet, temper still able to rise within a moment – and save them some worry. He wanted, in a part of him that was still small, young and vulnerable – that felt the most pain but still sought comfort from those worthy of blame in his eyes – to abandon his pack, shuck his boots and crawl under the covers between his uncle and brother, as he had so many times before. To be received with drowsy laughter, strong arms and warm kisses pressed to his forehead before they settled once more and he was lulled into sleep of his own by Fili’s even breathing and Thorin’s low snores.

He wished it, as he wished for earlier days, both impossible and born, he supposed, of a young heart however it took but a moment’s consideration of where from Kili’s anger stemmed to will him into motion once more. Any thoughts of affection were smothered by hurt and confusion, the same questions that had been running about his head since news came to him returning, never to be answered satisfactorily, it seemed. He had been stripped of his identity in what felt like a matter of hours, no longer able to place himself within kin, selfhood following into obscurity with the illumination of his true past and what it meant for his future. He was not son of Thorin, not prince of Erebor, his life built upon lies and fallacies.

Kili resolved then, at least for a time, to forge his own.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin and Fili feel much regret, and are spurred into action.

 

* * *

 

Thorin did not accept the full implications of Kili’s absence until they took the following day’s evening meal, a commander – his battalion charged with finding the prince, or if nothing more, gathering information as to where he could be – reporting at their table with disheartening news of a cold trail.

‘He returned to the mountain with his patrol this morning, but his shield brothers have not seen him since and reported no oddities in his behaviour before they parted,’ the commander shifted his weight from foot to foot under the weight of their gaze, despite being battle-hardened and in possession of what was usually an iron will as expected in all dwarf warriors, ‘but he is no longer in Erebor. The prince has either taken to the mines or crossed the Desolation and moves beyond it.’

The king turned his attention back to the meal spread out before them though it hardly interested him as Fili dismissed the commander with quiet thanks. They sat in silence, the younger resting head in hands as his husband forced himself to swallow a mouthful of bread. Taking a swig of water, Thorin cleared his throat, leaning forward to take Fili’s hand, coaxing him to look up from the tabletop. The eyes that met his were bright with tears, Fili quick to shake off the strong hand that held his own.

‘We were cowards. We waited too long,’ the golden dwarf was determined to avoid the fingers eager to twine with his own as if the small comfort they could offer each other was undeserved, avoiding the king’s second attempt to take his hand in favour for clenching them into fists closer to his body, ‘We waited too long, now he is gone and it is our fault.’

Fili barely reacted as Thorin, never one to be denied, moved from his chair at the head of the table to one beside his beloved. Gripping the front support of Fili’s seat to manoeuvre the younger dwarf around to face him, the elder took lightly trembling hands in his own, firm yet gentle.

‘He is resourceful…’ Thorin wondered if the words sounded as hollow to the other dwarf as they did to his own ears, but persevered in the event his bluff was successful and offered some comfort. ‘He will return to us in time, when he is ready.’ 

‘And shall he be whole upon this prophesied return?’ Fili stood, removing himself from easy distance as he set about pacing the dining hall.

Thorin exhaled noisily as his back hit solid wood, rubbing at the tension taking root his temple.

‘The choice was his own, though it breaks my heart. But do not think for a moment that his absence does not concern me.’

‘Does it?’ 

The golden dwarf’s pacing stopped and Thorin knew instantly – years together enough to tell from tone alone – what he had brought down upon himself. Fili, ever believed quiet and level headed, had a well concealed temper to rival his husband and adopted son, if not surpass them entirely when finding reason to unleash it.

‘Does it truly _concern_ you?’ Fili retraced the ground just covered to stand in front of the older dwarf once more, towering in a way he only achieved by approaching his seated lover, ‘If you were truly _concerned_ , you would have sent men earlier! You would have taken this seriously, and ordered a search for him sooner and the trail would not be cold!’

Each word was as a strike to Thorin’s heart, fuelled by grief but too close to truth to see him unscathed. He had refrained from what he’d thought could be overreaction, Kili having been known to remain outside the mountain as long as he could justify in past weeks, professing to enjoy the solitude. Fili had gone to him the morning their prince had last been seen, concerned that Kili had not returned from Ravenhill despite the afternoon creeping nearer. Thorin had been deep in talks, concerns about fortifying the riverbanks their allies in Laketown sat upon with the torrential downpours swelling already pressed banks, that showed no signs of ceasing, the main concern that held his thoughts at the time. He had brushed Fili’s unease off, distracted and otherwise occupied, with assurances that Kili would return by the evening meal.

It was little wonder his golden queen did not accept his attempted placations, and blame – both Fili’s and his own – burned painfully in his chest.

‘You know I love him, as I love you – more than anything else in this life,’ Thorin took hold of Fili’s hips to stop him from turning once more and was not inconsiderably surprised to get away with it unscathed, ‘and I shoulder the guilt for not taking your concerns seriously…’

His throat tightened, but he forced words all the same, ‘For not taking Kili seriously.’

Fili watched him through half-lidded eyes not completely void of anger yet, blonde chin tipped up imperiously in a way that conveyed his royal lineage clearer than crown and mantle. He did not pull away, though, and Thorin counted it a small victory in what would likely not be an easy battle to win.

 

* * *

 

When probing inquiries in Laketown and nearby settlements along the obvious roads brought no news of Kili, Fili proved himself of Durin’s blood in bold assertions and stubbornness.

‘I will find him myself.’ He declared, after hearing another of Thorin’s reports of continued fruitless searches.

Pulling his traveling coat over warm underclothes – the least adorned and thereby most discreet in his possession – Fili moved to the large chest that held weapons they had not seen need for in many years, seeking out familiar steel.

From his place propped in the doorway to their personal rooms, Thorin watched with unveiled disapproval.

‘And then you will be at as much risk as Kili, and I shall be forced to send out soldiers after you as well.’

The look he received in response was raw and conveyed much.

‘I can fend for myself more than well enough,’ closing the lid of the weapon’s chest after having removed all that he wanted, Fili sat atop it, resting his twin swords astride his lap and removing them from their sheathes to inspect the metal, ‘and I am far better suited to pursue Kili than those who do not know him. I have a far better understanding of him, and far better chance of convincing him to return upon finding him.’

Apparently pleased with the state of his blades despite their time spent idle, Fili rose to his feet and looped the harness that held them at his back over his head and arm. Thorin pushed himself from the wall and closed the distance between them, testing the still supple leather before bypassing it to cup his beloved’s cheek. Sharp words between them had not ceased entirely, the stress and worry of Kili’s continued disappearance continuing to pluck at their nerves, but Thorin had offered his apologies and Fili had accepted them with time, neither wishing to abstain from the comfort they found in the presence of the other.

Fili leant into the touch, eyelids falling closed for a moment as he turned his head to press soft lips to his king’s palm.

‘I worry for you, as I worry for our lad… do not ask me to condone seeing your life in danger, as his already stands. If I were to join you-’

A warm mouth connected with Thorin’s own, silencing words as gentle fingertips moved into the thick beard at his jaw and chin. Quiet overcame their chamber for long moments, nothing but the soft sounds of lips and tongue until they parted for breath. Fili smiled, rising upon his toes to bestow another kiss before shaking his head once, golden hair flying with the movement.

‘I would never ask it. You are king, and our people need you here.’

Thorin bent to rest their foreheads together, only forgoing familiar lips so that they could form words without distraction.

‘And you are not sovereign beside me, equally important to our people?’

 ‘I have never been overly good at placing duty before family, as you know.’ And Thorin did know, had always known – it somehow never diminishing the dwarf in his eyes but acting as a testament to his character.

Their close proximity allowed for an unobstructed view of the emotions that flitted across Fili’s fair face, the smile on his lips weak though his voice did not waver.

‘In this, I am brother above all else.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the final stretch with this chapter, all going according to plan, unless I bend to my own desire (as I often do!) to write additional needless introspection and/or fluff. (Kind of like 50% of this chapter oh well~ <3)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili searches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rather angry at myself for taking this long to update (and still, nothing really happens, nor gets resolved!) but please know I do intend on finishing this... one day... D:

* * *

 

The towns of men closest to their borders yielded little—as little as the soldiers sent before had reported. In their second week of searching, one innkeep, a corpulent man with a florid, fevered complexion, spoke of a young-looking dwarf passing through his doors, dark haired and well dressed, and for a moment Fili had been inclined towards hope. However, further discussion revealed that a good month had passed since that evening and, even if it had been Erebor’s wandering prince, the information offered no clues as to where he would be so much later.

‘The lad could be anywhere—east, south or deep in the western lands,’ Dwalin, one in the small escort Fili had conceded to at Thorin’s behest, spoke into his tankard, ‘we may as well flip a coin, for all the surety we’ll get.’

Fili barely registered the statement, true as it was, otherwise distracted as he regarded their surrounds. They stayed the night at a busy traveller’s stop on a road towards the Greenwood, filled with surly men and a small group of rugged-looking dwarves. He did not deny to himself that he was on a constant look out for Kili; ever hopeful that fate would see their paths align.

‘Surely he’d be headed for dwarf lands… nothing south but more men and folks of a dark inclination.’ Gloin offered around a mouthful of brown bread.  

‘Aye, that would seem to make the most sense but if he don’t want to be found, it seems folly to go to places where he’ll be recognised. Men cannae tell one dwarrow from a dwarrowdam.’

Gloin regarded his cousin for a moment before shrugging broad shoulders, unable to dispute his logic. They were, it seemed, at a loss once more.

‘If he is headed for the Blue Mountains he would have taken the forest path, and word has already been sent to the elves. They have had no dwarves in their kingdom, save the messengers we sent, in many months.’

Fili wondered when he had begun sounding so defeated—wondered whether it had always been the case, or simply set in as they were presented with dead end after dead end.

Dwalin drained his tankard, setting the crudely smithed metal upon the table with more strength than necessary. Passing the back of his forearm against his mouth and beard, the hardy warrior belched loud enough to warrant a cheer from the table closest to theirs.

‘Well, that be a start, lad. I don’t suppose Thorin sent similar messages to the Iron Hills?’

Fili folded his arms atop the oversized table, turning to face his companions properly.

‘Dáin had not seen or heard of Kili last we received word… but that was quite soon after he disappeared.’

The three shared a look—one of mutual optimism at the possibility of a lead, but still soured by weeks of fruitless searching. It seemed too simple and too obvious, even for Kili, fleeing to the closest lands of their kin. Dáin was aware of their concern and surely, through loyalty and familial affection, would have sent word the moment Thorin’s heir appeared in his lands, even if only to allow them some peace of mind.

The roads of messengers were rough, however, and Kili’s anger had been righteous last they spoke; perhaps he had convinced his kin to keep confidence, or the correspondence had been lost along treacherous trails.

‘We go east, to the Iron Hills.’

 

And as they rested that night in oversized beds made for taller folk, nothing between them and the endless sky but flimsy wood and thatching, Fili prayed they found themselves upon the right path.

 

* * *

 

The Iron Hills lay a good four days ride from Erebor, and the southerly direction their initial search had resulted in saw an additional two days added to the trek. Most of it was spent in silence, but their pace was brisk and the days passed quickly. A brief stop along the Redwater saw Gloin part company, eager to return to his family while Fili and Dwalin continued along safe paths to safer halls and he was, temporarily, unnecessary.

‘If you don’t find the prince, you should return to the mountain, at least for a time,’ the sturdy dwarf called back to them, his pony already moving down the opposite track to theirs, ‘I can assure Thorin that you are well until I am blue in the face, but he will not believe me ‘til you are stood in front of him, whole.’

Fili felt his lips quirk in what was undoubtedly a wry smile as he raised his hand in farewell. Beside him, Dwalin scoffed.

 

The Iron Hills loomed above them within a day of Gloin’s departure, and when they came close enough to discern dwarven gates and statues, something hot and tight seized Fili’s stomach and his heart set a renewed pace.

Kili could be within—safe, and well. He could greet them in Dáin’s halls, with his bright smile and indomitable spirit, weeks apart having mended at least some strain between them. It would, likely, be no small thing to convince Kili to return to Erebor but word could be sent to the Lonely Mountain—a message, bearing the queen’s own seal surely enough to bring his king some comfort. Perhaps it would take hours, days, or weeks, but eventually they would set out once more, together, to return home where things could begin to properly mend.

If Thorin had been with him, he undoubtedly would have noticed the sparkle within blue eyes—identified it as hope, and cautioned him not to get ahead of himself, lest Fili find himself aggrieved due to unfounded over-hopefulness.

Fili swallowed thickly as they passed through gates, not as grand as those of his own kingdom but solid and impressive nonetheless, and did what he could to steel himself against the possibility of disappointment in the form of no news or, worse yet, ill news.

His heart did not slow.

 

Dáin met them in his great hall soon after their arrival was announced, meeting foreheads with his kin and offering a warm welcome to Dwalin, as such a loyal soldier of his cousins was surely welcome within his walls.

They supped together, as the sun had already begun its descent behind tall mountains and the Lord of the Iron Hills wasted no time in attempting to assuage his curiosities.

‘I am, of course, ever-ready to receive your company, dear Fili,’ Dáin began, as soon as the evening meal was served, ‘but I must admit you have taken me quite by surprise. Usually word would be sent prior to our receiving such a guest as you.’

Fili considered the greying dwarf that sat before him with a discerning eye and found that, in the many years that had passed, he had not changed over much. He was a stout, strong dwarrow, with keen eyes and a mighty beard that reminded the golden dwarf of the towering statues of their ancestors that bedecked both of their kingdoms.

With the reclaiming of the Arkenstone and Erebor’s return to its former glory, their peoples once again stood united. Any feuds that had surfaced amidst the time of the dragon were mostly mended and Dáin had long ago proved himself a more than competent leader. He was not a bad man—no more cold or unfeeling than Thorin—but stood fiercely protective of his people and Fili could no longer find it in himself to scorn the dwarrow for his hesitancy to submit his Iron Hills kin to dragon fire.

‘My apologies for the sudden appearance, but I came on something of a whim.’

A thick, grey eyebrow was raised in a questioning fashion, so Fili continued.

‘Thorin sent correspondence to you, nearing two moons ago now, about Kili.’

Dáin nodded in affirmation, before his expression softened. Their meals sat largely untouched as the larger dwarrow rested his elbows atop the table, steepling his fingers in front of thin lips.

‘Aye, I received this message… about your wee bairn, Kili. Missing, wasn’t he?’

The Lord of the Iron Hills sat sympathetic yet inert, stealing all hope from Fili’s chest and leaving him somewhat breathless.

‘Not so wee anymore,’ the golden dwarf supposed his heartbreak was obvious from the furrowing of his cousin’s brow, ‘but we are worried all the same. I had hoped he may have come here, you being the closest kin we have.’

Dáin shook his head thrice, and each was like a sharp pain to Fili’s gut, travelling up to prickle behind his eyes and leave them moist and irritated.

‘I am sorry, dear Fili… if he has been here, he has not come to me. Know that I would have sent word immediately should that have been, or should it ever be, the case.’

 

They left four days later, neither eager to linger after resting and searching what they could of the Iron Hills. If their trip to Dáin’s home had been quiet, travelling from it was silence that not even the familiar silhouette of Erebor, glimpsed occasionally through thick cloud, saw remedied.

Fili planned their next routes—south, as far as the Brown Lands if the road was good, while scouts were sent to the Blue Mountains ahead of them.

Dwalin wondered if the lad was even still alive to be found.

He kept that to himself.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is found, but not by who you would think.

* * *

 

 

Travelling abroad—truly travelling abroad, with no proper bed in the foreseeable future, trekking through knee-high mud and thicket, soaked through or boiling hot in turns—was not how the stories made it seem. Kili was no stranger to trips outside of the mountain, often going as far as Laketown and even, with a proper auxiliary, the borders of the Greenwood. However, within days it had become apparent to him that what he had set out upon was inherently different to what he’d done before.

At first, Kili had attributed the difficulty to exhaustion; he hadn’t been sleeping well even before leaving Erebor, after all, and his mind rarely granted him a reprieve from tumultuous thoughts, especially when sleeping on the hard ground. By the second week, though, having traipsed from small town to smaller town with no real objective in mind— _they_ had always laughed at his lack of forethought and planning but assured him all the same that it was merely a vestige of youth—the crown prince was able to confidently identify his own loneliness. Out there, with no kin at his side or back, carrying additional supplies or offering support through especially rough terrain, the roads seemed longer, the nights felt darker. There was no laughter, no jokes to take away from the pain of overtired feet.

He had wanted solitude, there was no doubt, but never before had solitude felt so desolate.    

And the further south he went, it seemed, the less people had to say to travellers, men having grown suspicious and unwelcoming in the shadow of the great peaks of Minas Morgul. As a result, Kili passed largely unmolested upon their roads and within their taverns and inns—ignored, avoided or both.

It left him to his thoughts; let him mull over questions he supposed might never be answered whenever he wasn’t planning the next leg of his journey, or concentrating on his surrounds. So accustomed to being left alone, undisturbed while he consumed ale, brown bread and what meager offering of cheese the inn he rested in that night provided, Kili nearly knocked his draught to the floor in shock when a tall, fair man sat at his table at a small establishment just north of man’s fiefdom of Ithilien.

‘Rare to see your kind around these parts,’ the man said in lieu of an introduction and Kili pressed his hand into the folds of his coat as discretely as possible, fingers coming into contact with the smooth, treated wood of a familiar dagger, just in case, ‘Are you one of the Iron folk?’

If his movements betrayed him, as subtle as he endeavoured to be, the man made no outward indication of noticing. He merely smiled and awaited an answer, folding gauntleted arms atop the table.       

‘No, though I count them among my kin.’

‘Could it be that you are from the Lonely Mountain, then?’

Before he could think better of it, Kili nodded in affirmation. It occurred to him the moment he tilted his chin and he could have smacked his forehead for the blunder— _so much for remaining anonymous_ —but he’d established a story early into his trip and the lies spilled easily from his lips with little prompting.

‘Frerin is my name.’

The man’s smile faltered minutely at this and Kili felt a sudden wave of dread wash over him, wondering if, somehow, he had tripped with his fallacious introduction twice in as many minutes.

‘That name is familiar to me, though I haven’t looked upon the genealogies of the great dwarf lords for many a year.’

A family name, Kili quickly conceded around a mouth of bread and any suspicion seemed to flee the man’s countenance at the ready explanation. It comforted him to acknowledge an actual truth as he chewed vigorously. He had grown up on stories of Frerin—his uncle who had died young, fighting for their people—and, upon realising the likely difficulty that going by his own name upon the road would cause, it had seemed a logical decision.

It was almost refreshing, in that moment, with a complete stranger, to acknowledge his true family; to not occupy a completely fabricated life in the eyes of another.

Though he had been taught long ago to never trust upon appearance alone, the young dwarf felt his initial adrenaline drain away the longer the strange man sat across from him. He had bright eyes and the noble line of his nose spoke of something more than an everyday walkabout. Decked in green from head to toe save a dark travelling coat, the man appeared to belong to a small group of similarly outfitted men that sat by the inn’s only fire, puffing at well-worn pipes in what appeared to be a comfortable silence. By them, propped against the stone of the hearth were longbows—their length so great that they surpassed even that of the Lakemen’s weapons—and each wore a sword at their hip.

Soldiers, Kili supposed, but those that wandered the forests and greenlands of men.

‘Well, Frerin, I hope you’ll excuse me my curiousity, but what brings you to these parts? A dwarf, travelling alone on our roads… it is a strange sight.’

Upon being presented with a half-stale offering of bread that evening, Kili had begun by picking at and eating the hard outer crust first in order to reach the partially soft insides. He swallowed the last piece of hard outer shell just as the man quieted, regarding him across the table with an inexplicable expression.

‘How strange the ways of men in these parts are.’

He took a gulp of ale and enjoyed how the man’s face contorted further at his response.

‘To which ways do you refer?’

‘The ways that see you asking someone’s name, and the like, before introducing yourself.’

The man blinked, and Kili continued on. ‘If I’d ever spoken as such, I’d have earned myself a box around the ears.’

They sat in silence for what felt like a tense minute, both regarding each other closely, neither breaking eye contact. That was, until bright eyes crinkled at the corners and the man started laughing, loud and clear. Kili allowed himself a smile, and joined in after a breath.

‘You have my apologies—my days away from the cities have apparently seen my manners enter a decline.’

In the end, it mattered very little—Kili had never possessed an ear for the names of men and, even after repeating it, testing it with tongue and teeth, he had no idea whether it was dull or handsome, but the return seemed to ease any remaining tension between them.

The lack of companionship, the loneliness that Kili had endured for the past weeks—no one to talk to, no one to confide in, _no one_ —was gradually relieved as they spoke, exchanging stories of the land, their travels and, though with greater care, their homes. He was a man of Minas Tirith who spent little time within his city’s walls. As he spoke, the longing for familiar faces, buildings and paths became more and more evident upon the man’s face and Kili felt—though he tried his best to ignore it—a similar pang of his own as he recalled great halls, towering ceilings and roaring hearths.

‘But come, enough about me,’ another pint was slid across the table to Kili’s waiting hands and he took a mouthful while his companion settled back into his seat, ‘I am most interested to hear your story. It is not every day we see dwarves in these parts—nay, I’d warrant not every century. What caused you to leave your home and travel to such places as these?’

The young dwarf watched amber liquid in lieu of bright, searching eyes.

‘A disagreement, I suppose.’

His words were echoed, likely in confusion, and Kili tried to recall when he’d been able to think of his family and their arguments again without the stirrings of anger within his gut.

‘With my… brother, and my uncle. They kept information from me—important information—for no reason, like they had the _right_ , and…’ Kili’s throat tightened.

It was with some clarity that he realised it was no longer fury that caused it but a keen sadness.

And then he was talking. Rambling, almost, about everything—the lies, the betrayal, the hurt, the pressure, the emptiness. It was likely he’d said too much—had given too much away—and if the man across from him was even half as intelligent as he seemed, he’d already established that “Frerin” was more than he appeared, but the words kept coming.

Eventually, everything that could be said was said.

‘And I couldn’t stay.’ He finished lamely.

Other patrons remained loud and rowdy about them, laughing and cussing and singing. They remained silent for a time, Kili examining cup, plate and table intently as his companion casually surveyed the room, sparing the dwarf a searching gaze.

When the man spoke, it was almost wistful.

‘I have a brother—older than me by a mere five years—yet the distance between us some days seems… endless.’

Kili looked up from his cutlery to find a small smile twisting the soldier’s lips, a fond expression softening sharp features.

‘Five years is no great amount of time in a man’s life, but it—along with what we have experienced throughout our lives—ensures we do not always see the world the same way.’

He thought, in that moment, of Fili; bright, golden Fili, beloved by his subjects and king. Fili, bedecked in the elaborate robes his status demanded, shining crown atop his head—regal and confident, standing above all.

So at odds with his “son”, unbraided and wild.

‘When we were young, our mother died. She had never truly recovered from giving birth to me and one winter her body simply ceased to work. There had been an abnormally high rate of sickness that year and my brother said she had taken ill like so many others.’

He thought of Fili kneeling down on the cold stone floor, uncaring as the rich fabric was dirtied, arms outstretched—waiting for Kili to close the distance between them so he could be scooped up and held tight.    

‘When this was revealed to me, years later, I was furious—at him, and at myself for doing that to her. We fought, often and long about it, and only with hindsight can I understand why he kept it from me.'

Fili laughing—pressing kisses over Kili’s forehead and cheeks.

‘He was protecting me.’

Fili was no longer kneeling on stone but on soft, green grass and dirt. His brow was furrowed—he looked _scared_ , almost—and Kili identified the memory pulled to the forefront of his mind. He had been young and foolhardy, escaping the mountain and climbing a tree only to fall from it and break his arm.

All he had wanted in that moment was Fili, or Thorin, or _both_ because he had known they would make things right. His brother had cradled him in his arms and carried him back to Erebor where his uncle had held him late into the night, lulling him to sleep with song and a strong but gentle hand on his back.  

He had known they would make things right because they had always looked after him. Had always protected him.

‘He protected me from myself—from the blame a child places on their own shoulders. He took that upon himself so I was not subjected to it.’

> _Your mother died when you were young._
> 
> _We adopted you as our own and gave you the best childhood we could._

‘I cursed him. I told him I hated him and called him a liar.’

> _You have caused me nothing but pain and yet you still stand by what you did!_

‘He accepted my anger so I could blame him instead of myself.’

> _All we wanted for you was joy, and safety. To keep your heart from bearing the reality of your lineage._

‘Only time healed the pain I felt and gave me the hindsight and humility to acknowledge what he did for me.’

When Kili found his words they were soft and tremulous. His companion’s gaze was somewhere over his shoulder, as if saving him from the embarrassment of being seen so vulnerable.

‘We are not so dissimilar, dwarves and men.’

Bright eyes flicked from the walls to Kili’s darker pupils and he smiled, his good humor returning. Kili finished the last of his ale and, despite the heavy rain still audible on the roof above, reached for his coat and pack.

The man watched him rise and raised his half-drained pint in something akin to a salute.

Kili bade Faramir of Gondor farewell and pushed through heavy doors and back onto the road once more.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If one does the math per this twisted AU, Kili and Faramir could run into each other just prior to the Council of Elrond and the happenings of the Fellowship of the Ring. 
> 
> I note that I've taken some liberties with Finduilas' death, but it was necessary to keep things relevant.
> 
> Also, thanks to anyone still reading - please leave a comment if you feel so inclined as it's always so heartening to get some feedback!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili returns and there is reconciliation.

* * *

 

When Erebor came into sight Kili was struck by the towering figures of his forebears, the great gates and looming battlements standing unchanged, even after what felt like a lifetime absent. The Long Lake had frozen over with the final plummet in temperature amidst winter’s coldest weeks and the vast lands surrounding the mountain were covered in compact snow.

Everything felt still, muted, as if time itself had been suspended—waiting for warmer months, perhaps, or the return of one who would notice its inertia.

The final leg of his journey was spent on feet half-frozen and worn to blisters, Kili longing for few things more than a blazing hearth and comfortable chair, both which he would be quite content to utilise until the change of season. The road had taken its toll on his body, leaving him thinner and coarser all over, but not even that was enough to douse, nor hold at bay, the warm prickling of something—relief? Anticipation?—that his first glimpse at the mountain, solitary and imposing even on the furthest of horizons, had triggered. It had been a half-year since he had left Erebor and, though it was not entirely obvious to Kili what he had expected to feel upon his return home, the bubbling of exhilaration that quickened his pace was surprising.

Reentering Erebor stirred as much attention as leaving it had and Kili was deep in the city, halfway to the palace before anyone reacted to—noticed, even—his return.  An arm was suddenly looped around his shoulder from behind, jostling him considerably and, had it not been for the familiar voice that accompanied it, the young dwarf would have struck out at his accoster in return.

‘You, lad, have had the lot of us in quite a state.’

Instead, Kili merely chuckled and turned to face Dwalin, the older dwarf taking a step back to survey him from head to toe (likely for injuries best reported prior to the prince going in front of the king and queen).

‘Oh Dwalin, I’ve missed you too.’

Dwalin, apparently content enough with the state of Erebor’s heir, swatted Kili upside the head. The pain was fleeting and the younger could not help but snicker.

Silence fell between them for a heartbeat before the older dwarf’s expression softened further, taking Kili’s pack—far lighter than he had left with, not the burden it was—and steering him in the direction of the palace.

‘… they will be relieved to see you.’

Kili did not respond, continuing to turn long-considered words in the back of his mind much as he had the months he had been away. They still did not come easily. 

They made it as far as the great doors that led to Erebor’s grand audience chamber before Kili slowed and came to a halt, drawing Dwalin’s attention back to him. The general’s brow creased and for a moment the younger expected a chiding of some sort—a “come along, then”, or possibly a curt “well?”, some reference to keeping kings and queens waiting even—however, instead, he received a brusque nod as the older dwarf clucked his tongue once.

‘Aye,’ Dwalin raised a hand to scratch at his thick beard, a subconscious gesture amid visible contemplation, ‘I suppose an audience for this sort of reunion is not really appropriate… best it be done elsewhere.’

And though his actions were driven less by concern with social propriety and more the result of a sudden, disconcerting nervousness, Kili appreciated the idea of some privacy nonetheless, quickly agreeing to go and wait within the king’s chambers while Dwalin brought the news of his return to Thorin and Fili. A quick detour down familiar halls to his own room in a search for clean, dry clothes (a luxury largely unknown outside of the first few days of his journey) saw the contents of it unchanged and seemingly untouched save for it all being uncharacteristically clean (he would bet coin it was Fili’s doing). Upon crossing the threshold, Kili could not help but pause and bask in familiar, comfortable surrounds, falling atop the lush covers of his bed and burying his face against downy pillows.

Though his distraction had seemed fleeting—lying down for what felt like a handful of breaths before rising once more, casting off his travel-worn clothes in favour for lighter, more comfortable options, and leaving his room—Thorin and Fili had reached the king’s chambers ahead of him. Kili paused in the doorway, his hand, raised to knock upon wood before entering, falling back against his side as he watched the two dwarves already inside, both still oblivious to his arrival.

They, like Erebor itself, had changed little in the months that had passed since Kili’s departure save for a few extra strands of greying hair at Thorin’s temple and how the lines around the corners of Fili’s mouth and between his brows had seemingly deepened. Fili sat by the chamber’s smoldering hearth, engaged in quiet conversation with his husband who paced the room from end to end. Both, despite the news Dwalin had passed on, wore grim expressions, hardly fitting of those about to be reunited with a loved one, and it was how well such a countenance seemed to fall in place over both of them—tight jaws and even tighter mouths beneath furrowed brows—that spurred Kili into knocking and drawing their attention.

In that moment, their expressions changed and the young dwarf could do naught but smile in response.

 

* * *

 

At first, both Thorin and Fili had seemed in something of a state of shock, unable to move or do much more than stare at Kili, their darling child who, after a half-year missing, most had presumed dead.

It had taken the passing of a season for Fili to call off the searches, stowing his own travelling boots and returning to those duties deemed “proper” by councilors still flustered by one of Erebor’s great monarchs engaging in such dangerous activities as travelling outside the mountain regularly without proper detail, posing as a layman and spending time within the townships of men. Thorin had barely responded when the younger dwarf had admitted his decision to remain in the mountain and allow Kili to return to them in his own time, if at all, giving his beloved a cursory glance as he packed up his weapons and stowed them once more, but that night he had held Fili closer, tighter, and the king had slept more soundly from then on.

They had wished, and prayed, but as the months passed and no sign was found—even as they stretched their resources, scouts, messengers and search parties leaving the mountain daily— they lost hope, especially as the lands swelled with evil and the eastern mountains darkened with impending war.  

That Kili stood before them on a bitter but innocuous February afternoon, thinner and tired-looking but altogether whole, was nothing short of bewildering.  

Fili managed to rally himself, rising from his seat and crossing the room to stand in front of his newly returned kin. He raised a hand to cup Kili’s cheek as his brows furrowed and the expression he wore was not of unbridled happiness, like the younger may have expected, but relief shone bright in blue eyes. Fili moved his hand to the back of Kili’s head, bringing their foreheads together in a tender press before releasing a tremulous exhale. Kili gripped what of his brother he could in response, fingers clenching rich fabric and golden hair as they stood together, the chamber silent but for the crackle of the fire and heavy breaths.  

‘You have returned to us at last…’ Fili managed a smile, pulling back only as far as necessary to look the younger over, likely searching for injury or signs of physical distress.

Upon finding nothing overtly concerning he made a soft noise in the back of his throat and knocked their brows together once more with some force, the clasps at the ends of his moustache tickling Kili’s jaw.

‘And it is about time…’

The pain that blossomed as their skulls cracked against one another felt something like punishment while the affectionate lilt of Fili’s smile spoke of forgiveness. Time had soothed Kili’s own bitterness and, in that moment, it felt natural once more to pull the older dwarf into a tight embrace. When they separated it was not far, as if Fili could not stand much distance between them again so soon and Kili was not interested in trying.

Thorin stood but a handful of steps away, not having moved since the young dwarf’s appearance at his chamber door, yet it seemed no small thing for Kili to close the distance between them and stand before his king (his father, his uncle, _all of those_ ).

‘I had to leave… I needed space to think, to try and… understand what was said and done, on my own terms.’

Thorin, as if expecting the continuation of the arguments following Kili’s discovery of his true lineage, grimaced and spoke his heir’s name aloud in hopes of stalling yet another quarrel but the younger forged ahead.

‘I am sorry I caused you concern. I knew my leaving would, yet I did it anyway and… it was wrong of me. Immature… reckless, too,’ Kili wanted to drop his gaze to his boots but instead forced himself to meet both pairs of eyes watching him, waiting upon his words, ‘In the end, I likely did exactly what you feared I would, hence why you never told me.’

Thorin and Fili exchanged a look, one familiar to Kili despite all the time passed; one that spoke of mutual surprise, often shared when their young charge blindsided them by saying or doing something especially wise or mature. Kili almost wanted to loudly verbalise his displeasure, as he was wont to do in the past when like situations arose, but it was not the time for laughter and joking, not yet.

‘I wish you’d told me sooner, but I understand that you did it to protect me, as best you could. I was given a good childhood—the best one could hope for—and I wanted for nothing, not food, nor warmth or love,’ and then it was if the words were stuck in his throat, lodged somewhere between tongue and heart.

Kili cleared his throat as best he could but still his words came out soft and tremulous, ‘And though I would not return to ignorance, I would have it back, if I am still welcome to it.’

‘It?’ Fili echoed, gently.

Kili nodded once.

‘It. My place with you, within our family. I would be Kili, son of Thorin and Fili, and Kili, son of Dís both… as both are a part of me…’

As though the air required to make his far from grand speech was all that filled him, Kili felt small and depleted when silence descended within the king’s chamber.

It was a great many moments before Thorin spoke.

‘Foolish boy…’ Kili’s breath was stolen by unexpected albeit familiar words unlike ever before as he suddenly dreaded what was to follow.

Then strong arms enveloped him and soft, chapped lips kissed his brow. Kili pressed his face against the thick fur lining of Thorin’s mantle, taking comfort in the familiar smell and feel of it, of Thorin—things that had not changed since he was a small child, when he was lifted and carried around against the king’s chest. Many a time Fili had recounted, affectionately, that though he had spent the most time raising Kili—Thorin always needed elsewhere, usually for something important and urgent—it was the king Kili always pined for, throwing mighty tantrums late at night or in the afternoon when most young dwarves were napping. More than once Thorin had received an armful of wriggling dwarfling within the chamber of council when Fili could deal with his cries no longer. Like clockwork, Kili would fall asleep after mere moments of being cradled against Thorin’s chest, happy to remain there for hours, likely to stir only when put down.

Perhaps it was something instinctive—a cot memory, still tucked away in Kili’s subconscious—or simply the result of so long without proper sleep in a safe place, exacerbated by an emotional reunion, but within moments of wrapping his arms around Thorin his eyelids felt heavy. His uncle, feeling the change, rumbled something by his ear but Kili could not make sense of it, already fast on his way to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, at last. I have been meaning to get this chapter out for literal months and here it finally is--a manifestation of my coping mechanism having seen BOTFA. 
> 
> I plan at least an epilogue after this which will hopefully be done far more promptly than this part.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long overdue epilogue.

* * *

 

Though her body had never returned to the mountain, a great stone coffin for Dís, daughter of Thrain, lay deep within the tombs of Erebor. Above it stood her towering likeness, grave but beautiful. It had been hand-carved by Fili in the weeks following word of her death reaching the Lonely Mountain—when the Golden Queen could be spared from rearing Kili—in her memorial.

As Kili examined her handsome countenance it was not without some hollowness that he found the planes of her face completely unknown to him. She possessed the strong Durin nose and her hair appeared to have been worn as all dwarrowdams of the royal line were expected, but he did not know her—had no shadow of a memory of her face, or scent, or voice.

He did not hear footsteps behind him until there was another a scarce five feet away.

‘She was a good person… a better mother, though by the time you were born she had changed much.’

Fili placed a low-burning torch into the wall bracket closest to the entrance, taking a moment to brush a small cobweb from the metal. It had struck Kili upon entering the burial chambers how well maintained the space was; dust obviously wiped away at regular intervals, the floors swept and polished, an ongoing testament to pledges of eternal remembrance.

Kili rested his hand on the coffin that stood beside his mother’s—also empty, made for his birth father whose body had never been recovered from the battlefield. The emptiness of having no recollection of him, either, was barely lessened by knowing he had been in the halls of their forefather’s long before Kili was born.

‘Because of our father’s death?’

‘Because of his death, her brother’s death, her father’s disappearance, her grandfather’s death… the deaths of those we lost when the mountain was taken…’ Fili crossed the remaining distance to settle beside Kili, who had sat himself atop the hard, flawless stone that formed a great platform for the tombs. His expression was made more discernable for the closeness in such darkness, so far under ground that even torchlight seemed feeble, ‘By the time you were born she already bore much…’

Erebor’s monarch looked tired and saddened by that place of mourning but smiled in a way that spoke of an inner peace achieved after many years dealing with premature death. He smiled not out of joy but in something like resignation to the Durin’s long history of heartache and loss.

‘Things could have been worse, though,’ Fili continued after a time, his gaze fixed on a far wall mostly obscured by shadow, ‘Thorin and I both survived, despite valiant attempts in earlier years…’

Kili did not miss the sidelong wink he was sent and could not help but laugh. Though the sound echoed throughout the chamber it felt less like a disturbance, more like the injection of sorely needed energy into a space that longed for light and conversation.

Fili took his brother’s hand and both held firm to each other.

‘And you were delivered to us.’

They sat a while longer, Kili knowing better than to attempt speech with the sudden swell of emotion that tightened his throat, while Fili was content to await its dissipation.

 ‘I think…’ At length Kili spoke, his voice surprisingly steady, ‘considering our success, that we remain together despite difficulties… Mother might, at least, be at peace now.’

Fili wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

‘I wholeheartedly believe so.’  

 

* * *

 

Dwalin's gaze was like a physical weight as Kili emerged from the throng of people gathered outside the Great Chamber, the older dwarf observing his quick ascent up the stone steps with an expression that announced clearly a brewing lecture. 

Dark eyes flicked to the ceiling above as Kili reached him, as though addressing the gods themselves. 

'He cannot be here. He cannot be standing in front of me now, at this hour, for he should already be dressed accordingly, waiting for the ceremony to begin, ‘side the king and queen.'

Kili flashed his brightest, most charming smile.

'Come on, Dwalin. Let me in and I'll be ready in no time.'

'It is a wonder to me,' the General continued as if Kili had not spoken at all, 'that you have not yet been replaced - that your mother and father have not tried to create another, or travelled into the Deep Mines in hope of finding one born within the stone...' 

It was obvious Dwalin was not quite finished, despite a pause, and Kili waited accordingly, raising a brow as he was fixed with a discerning stare.

'After all, though they are far thicker than your average dwarrow, they can be taught things. Such as the importance of punctuality. And though it is not easy, it is not so akin to smacking one's head against stone as trying to get the notion through to you.' 

Kili fairly squawked at the insult, shoving the general with as much force as he could exert and receiving a predictably minimal reaction from the mountain of a dwarf.

'You sound an awful lot like them right now, actually - have you been exchanging notes?'

The younger dwarf received, for his efforts, a shove of his own—forced sideways and barely keeping his feet as he laughed at the assault he should have seen coming. Dwalin stood aside then, however, allowing Kili entrance through the great doors he guarded.

‘I think Thorin and Fili do a good enough job spoiling you. They don’t need my help.’ The warrior looked his kin from head to toe, as if appraising him once more. ‘… at least have something done with your hair.’  

Not about to squander the opportunity given to him, Kili was quick to slip inside. It was a difficult feat to let slide the many jibes about hypocrisy and leading by example that sprang to mind but the young dwarf bit his tongue.

If Dwalin showed surprise at his restraint Kili did not see it, already on his way to the heart of Erebor.

He had never expected it to be a small gathering—never imagined an intimate venue with little more than a handful of witnesses to attest to the investiture of Erebor’s crown prince—but the crowd that had assembled to witness what Balin had described as “a mere formality” still floored Kili. It seemed as if all of Erebor had decked themselves in their best finery to celebrate the occasion, while a number of dignitaries from neighbouring kingdoms—those that were on particularly good terms with their dwarfish allies and consequently welcome at such an event—dotted the crowd as well. Likely out of curiousity, Kili would wager, but could hardly judge for it.  

By something akin to a miracle—also known as _Fili_ , who had been waiting in his chambers with clothes and comb alike—Kili was dressed and present at the appointed hour, standing at his place beside the thrones of his king and queen. Though he had taken the same place many times before, that afternoon it made his palms sweat.

The ceremony was a long, formal and dry thing filled with oaths and prayer that seemed endless. Kili kept his back as straight and his expression as fixed as he was able, determined to pay attention and prove himself worthy of the grand service his position warranted. He counted such endurance a victory when, during yet another blessing, Kili noticed an aborted yawn from Fili himself. Erebor’s monarch had raised a gloved hand to cover his mouth, turning his head in as subtle of a move as was possible, but it was unmistakable. It was a brief moment of amusement for Kili, however, as the golden queen’s boredom proved contagious and he spent what felt like the next eternity flaring his nostrils and sticking the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth in an attempt to abate the infectious desire to yawn himself.  

The moon had long since cast its silver light over the Lonely Mountain before the ceremony reached its finale, the king bestowing upon his heir his mantle and a kiss upon the temple. In that moment, Thorin smiled at him with such warmth that Kili’s stoicism was once more rent as the visible affection had him beaming. The young dwarf was quick to throw his arms around the neck of his king and, though it was far from proper conduct, those assembled cheered. Thorin held him tight, a low, rumbling chuckle barely audible for the raucousness about them.

Fili joined them as the ceremony closed, their audience filing out of the Great Hall so that it could be prepared for the celebration that would follow and last well into the following day. Kili was quick to pull his brother into their embrace, burying his face against a shoulder bedecked with rich fur and curtained by golden hair while his fingers held tight to the velvet and muscle of the king’s arm.

‘We are proud of you, Kili.’ Thorin said, his own grip upon the younger dwarf not lessening.

‘Aye,’ Fili’s hand was in Kili’s hair, combing out the final remnants of braids from the locks that never kept them, ‘And we are truly blessed, with an heir such as you.’

When Kili shook his head it was against his brother’s shoulder, fingers still holding his uncle close.

‘No, it is I who is blessed,

Blessed with such kin.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, it is finished. I want to foremost apologise for how long this has taken to finish and thank those who have stuck around to the end. The kind words and encouragement of this community have really kept me going on a project that, despite my affection for, would likely have fallen by the wayside a long time ago. 
> 
> You are all beautiful and I hope you enjoyed this little offering <3


End file.
